Tender Malice
by Meganlovesjb
Summary: She had not enough energy to care that she was vulnerable in the arms of the enemy, for in that moment she trusted him in a way she couldn't comprehend. She was too tired to think of the consequences, of his motives. Too broken.
1. Chapter 1

**Tender Malice**

_I've recently been fascinated by the Draco/Hermione pairing, Dramione just … fascinates me. I love their potential and their dynamic and I've been dying to explore a darker twisted aspect of their relationship._

_It's my first ever Harry Potter fanfiction so please keep that in mind as you read. I'm still learning and it's been years since I've read the books. Therefore this fanfiction is not detailed oriented so please don't rip me apart if I get small things wrong, it's about the larger tale. The relationships, the emotions. _

_This is the Post-Hogwarts Era, kind of an alternate universe. The "good guys" have lost the war and Voldemort rules the wizarding world with an iron fist. _

_The story picks up six months after the demise of Harry Potter and the fall of Hogwarts. Ron has also been killed and Hermione is the lone survivor._

_WARNING: Disturbing content._

* * *

><p><strong>Part One<strong>

Hermione let out a muffled scream as she struggled against the strong arms that contained her, one tightly around her waist, one stifling her cries.

She had been running, running and hiding for months, alone and terrified. But they had found her, they had finally found her.

No more running. The game was over, the chase had ended. She had lost, and now, now she was doomed.

"Stop struggling, beautiful, it only turns me on," growled the foul snatcher in her ear. She cringed in disgust at his words, blinking hard as she attempted to calm herself.

Scabior. That was his name. The loathsome snatcher that had been after her for months. He'd apparently taken a liking to her the first time he'd chased her alongside Harry and Ron, and made it his own private mission to bring her to Voldemort personally.

She'd evaded him well, best she could. But he was good. Scabior had made a career out of hunting people, and he now worked under the dark lord—commander of the wizarding world—as one of his best men.

She glanced over her shoulder at him as he cupper her jaw firmly. The scraggly hair that he pulled back into a ponytail brushed her cheek and she whimpered. He chuckled and it fell slightly into his eyes, framing the dark handsomeness of his features.

"I've got you at last," he tantalized, tugging her closer to him still. She glanced around, gaging whether he had brought others with him, but it appeared he'd pursued her alone.

Perhaps she could use the fact to her advantage.

He groped her frame possessively.

Perhaps not.

"You gave me quite a bit of trouble, love," he spoke lowly in her ear and she tugged against him, trying to break free. "Feisty," he continued. "But your friends aren't here this time. They won't be helping you escape, will they?"

She swallowed hard at his words, refusing to let him see how deeply they pierced her heart.

"Because they're dead, aren't they" he spat harshly, tearing open the freshly closed wound within her heart.

"This time, it's just you and me," he gripped her shoulders tightly, spinning her quickly to face him.

He glared at her, his piercing eyes boring into her very core.

Scabior reached forward and ran a finger gently across her cheek.

"And if the dark lord hadn't ordered your immediate and unharmed appearance at his side upon finally catching you," he mused, his eyes darkening, "believe me you would be mine."

Hermione's breath caught, terror filling her as she realized she was no match for him. Her physical strength could not defend her against his; perhaps her magic could outwit him. But as she caught sight of her wand carefully tucked away in his back pocket, she knew all hope was tucked in there with it.

"Shame," he mused, giving her one last long lustrous glare, before grabbing her hand tightly.

Before Hermione could blink, they were apparating, and Scabior was taking her to the last place she ever wanted set foot again, Voldemort's new headquarters at Malfoy Manor.

* * *

><p>Hermione trembled as they entered the looming expanse of the mansion<p>

She shivered, the eeriness of her surroundings consuming her as she was hauled into a familiar room at the heart of the mansion. The very room where she'd been tortured by Bellatrix. She looked down instinctively to her wrist where the scar remained. The word etched into her skin for eternity—forever a reminder of where she belonged in this world, this new world of hate and segregation.

Hermione cringed at the memory of the torment she had been put through, stiffening in fear as she recalled the pain of the cruciatus curse.

"Come along," Encouraged Scabior as he tugged her into the room. It was as large and dark as she remembered, a quiet fire blazing along the east wall.

Hermione jumped, frozen in fear as she glanced around. Inside the room stood no less than twenty death eaters, all of them hovering close by, scrutinizing her hungrily.

Her eyes darted for any sign of their leader, but she soon realized he was absent and her heart rate slowed if only slightly.

"Is it really her? You've finally managed to hunt the witch down?" One of them jeered at Scabior from nearby.

He hissed, narrowing his eyes at the death eater.

"Yes. And the dark lord will be wanting to know promptly," he persisted impatiently, looking around like he'd really rather be on his way. Hermione presumed no one preferred to stay in this pleasurable company very long if they could help it, not even a snatcher.

Another death eater laughed, stepping closer to Scabior and her own shaking form. "He is presently away from headquarters," the death eater leered at her.

"All those years loyal to the potter boy and look where it's gotten you, girl. Tell me, was it worth it?" He provoked, stepping so close to her that she resisted the urge to take a step back in fear.

He was an older member, his eyes colder and crueler than the men that surrounded him, and to say as much was unnerving considering the room was full of death eaters.

He reached forward to cup her jaw roughly and she jerked away. He chuckled darkly. "Well, was it?" He pressed.

"Yes," Hermione responded fervently, trying to find her voice.

He merely shook his head pitifully in her directions as the others gazed on.

He sighed at last. "I propose we give her a proper welcome to the household while we wait for the return of the Dark Lord," he mused, his hand traveling the length of her arm to her torso. She stepped back, blinking quickly.

"We can all have a go at her, seems a shame to let something so sweet go to waste, no?" He asked his fellow tormentors without so much as turning to face them.

A rumble of agreement sounded audibly behind him and he smirked cruelly.

"The dark lord has been searching for this one for months, under strict instruction to bring her to him alive and unharmed. His wrath would be unparalleled if we touch her now," someone argued rationally, stepping from the shadows into the forefront of the group, his voice commanding and charismatic.

Hermione gasped as she caught sight of a head of white blonde hair paired with that expressionless mask she familiar with. He looked different from the last time she'd seen him. Older somehow, like his eyes carried the weight of knowledge, experience, and pain, things he'd not known before. He appeared tired, haunted, but most of all he looked beyond his years in the way he held himself, his eyes ever calculating the situation as he glanced at her briefly.

Draco Malfoy held her gaze for only a moment before turning his attention to the other men in the room once more. Hermione could not read the expression behind it, nor could she understand why it seemed that the man who had tormented her since she was a young child, had hated her and been an enemy to her all her life was speaking up for her now.

One of the men stepped forward as well, scoffing.

"Draco, we all know this is where she will end up in the end, a prisoner to be thrown around amongst the men. A delay of this inevitable result is only that—a delay," he reasoned.

Malfoy said nothing for a long moment, his mind reeling.

Hermione blinked in horror at the prospect of what they intended for her, her heart pounding with terror and adrenaline.

She prayed Malfoy could do something, anything. Whatever she would have to owe him later for this would be worth it, for surely he had his motives as ever for his actions. She shot him a fleeting panicked glance.

"And what if she is a virgin?" Malfoy spoke at last, his words shocking and confusing her.

"What of it?" Another pressed.

"The Dark Lord prefers to break in slaves and prisoners himself. We all know how he hates to be denied the right. He prefers them that way," he said slowly, glancing around. "We know he is also looking for a woman to bear his heir. A strong witch to carry his child, though she is a mudblood we cannot rule out what he may want from her. And she is his. We have no right to touch the girl, and I for one do not want to cross the Dark Lord or tamper with what is his," he asserted with finality, shooting Hermione another quick glance. She was now unsure whether he was helping or hindering her situation. Why intervene at all?

Lucious Malfoy stepped forward. "You make a valid point my son," he looked around for confirmation of this fact and was met with no disagreements. "Perhaps you can take it upon yourself to escort Mrs. Granger to the dungeons. We have much to discuss while we wait for the Dark Lord to return," he suggested coolly, shooting Draco a knowing look.

Malfoy nodded quickly, and without another word, he grabbed her arm firmly and turned them from the crowd of men without so much as meeting her gaze.

Hermione waited until they were well out of ears shot and Draco was leading her roughly down a dimly lit hallway before glancing sidelong at him.

"Malfoy," she breathed in a panicked rush, noting how tightly his jaw was clenched and the firm hold he had on her arm. His posture was rigid.

"Quiet," he snapped quickly, shooting a cautious look behind him before tugging her along faster. "Just shut up, Granger," he growled impatiently.

They walked endlessly, bustling through corridors in silence before at last they came to a pair of rusty doors.

He hesitated, looking at Hermione for a long moment.

"I don't expect you'll be here long. The Dark Lord never really stays away," he offered before rigidly yanking the door open with a screech and stepping forward once more.

Hermione hovered in the door way as he stepped inside, the smell of hay and mold filling her senses.

He glanced back impatiently. "Come on, Granger."

She tentatively stepped forward, following him slowly as her eyes adjusted to the dark room. The unpleasant odor made her want to gag and she shot a fleeting look towards the open door behind her.

"Don't even think about it," Malfoy spoke quickly, watching her every move. "I'm not in the mood to chase you," he warned, his eyes narrowing at her in warning.

She gave him a hateful look before reluctantly stepping forward. She noticed the room was empty of prisoners.

He opened one of the cell doors and ushered her in, securing it tightly behind her.

She looked around, expecting a bed, somewhere to go to the washroom, water, at the very least a blanket, but found nothing. The cell was constructed of brick walls on three sides with a concrete floor, no windows and bars for a door. It was dirty, damp and cold.

Hermione wheeled around shooting Malfoy a pleading look, crossing her arms across her chest.

The mask he wore never faltered as he gave her a long look before turning slowly and heading for the doors.

"Malfoy, wait," She called helplessly.

He stopped but did not turn.

"What were you thinking suggesting me as Voldemort's personal sex toy?" She asked quickly, a panic surrounding her, hatred lacing her voice. Surely he did not hate her that much. "Do you really wish that for me?" She asked in a shaky voice.

"It was the only way to stop them from touching you at the time," he said plainly. "If you'd rather be tossed around as their whore, I'll keep my mouth shut in the future," he didn't turn back as he left the room abruptly.

Hermione blinked hard as the sound of the door slamming echoed throughout the room.

Hermione backed herself against the closest wall and facing the bars that held her in captivity, she sunk to the ground.

The cement was cold and she curled in on herself instinctively. The jeans and sweater she was wearing provided some warmth but not quite enough.

She suddenly found her heart pounding, the terror of the situation fully hitting her. What Voldemort wanted her for she did not know, but if he hadn't killed her yet she feared she did not want to know.

Why was she here?

Alive. Why still alive?

If she had not been brought to him to be killed as a final victorious gesture against Harry, then for what?

Her mind ran wild, endless scenarios running through her and she was powerless to stop them. It was in that moment that she wished for death, wished he would just kill her and be done with it.

Keeping her here could mean nothing good, could only bring darkness and torment to her life. At least if she was gone it would all be over, all the fighting, the pain.

She could be with them again, with Ron and Harry and so many she'd loved and lost. So many people she longed to see once more. She could escape the imminent pain and humiliation that awaited her and slip away to nothingness.

Hermione suspected that if she was the type of woman to easily cry, she would be presently sobbing. But she was not.

Instead, she found herself staring into oblivion through the dimly lit cell lost in thought. Had it really all come to this? Had she actually found herself the captive of Voldemort and almost all of his followers, at their ruthless mercy?

She looked down and saw that her hands were shaking and clasped them together in an effort to calm herself. Hermione comforted herself with the fact that it would likely soon be over. All of it would finally be finished.

She had lost, but she had put up a good fight.

* * *

><p>Hermione did not remember dozing off, but she noted the way her head had lulled against the brick wall as she started awake.<p>

The sound of footprints etched towards her and she stiffened instantly, remembering her circumstance quickly, her heart rate quickening.

She found herself slightly relieved when she saw Malfoy come into view.

Hermione rubbed her face slowly as she stared up at him, tugging her dirty hair back from her face.

"The Dark Lord has returned and he wishes to see you," Malfoy explained, unlocking the door and pulling it aside.

Hermione hesitated but he shot her an impatient look and she stood quickly, making herself dizzy in the process. She realized then how weak and hungry she was becoming, wishing for nothing more than some bread and water, for a warm bed.

She braced a hand against the wall to steady herself, a hand shooting to her temple as she closed her eyes.

After a moment she recovered and shaking her head dismissively, stepped forward.

Malfoy watched her curiously as she stepped from the cell and followed him quietly from the room.

She caught up with him, falling into stride beside him as she shot him a sidelong glance, studying his expression for any hint of what was to come.

Unable to stand it anymore and with nothing to lose she blurted "Is he going to kill me?"

She was surprised at how steady her voice had remained as she spoke the words, unwavering and neutral in a way that unnerved even her.

Malfoy's stride faltered as he glanced at her. "Not today," was his short response.

Hermione wasn't sure whether she felt relieved or disappointed but she didn't respond. She contemplated running but thought better of it, her chances of escaping without being caught were impossible, and she stilled herself, her mind reeling as she tried to come up with a better plan.

He grabbed her arm, leading her as they preceded in silence towards the same room she'd been taken to yesterday, apparently a meeting area of sorts.

Hermione found it strange being near Malfoy once more. He seemed every bit the boy she'd once known yet every bit a man she no longer knew all at once. She studied him as they walked, wondering for the first time how he'd ended up amongst these people and what his role here was, whether he was pleased with his life or resented it.

She knew only one thing of him—that his loyalty was to Voldemort, and that was the only truth that mattered. It was a fact that made her fear him on some level as much as she despised the thought.

As they approached the large double doors, they slowed and Malfoy turned towards her abruptly, his eyes boring into hers.

"Listen to me, Granger," he said quickly, his expression shifting, almost softening.

She creased her eyebrows at his behavior, staring back at him in confusion and apprehension.

"Do everything in your power not to scream, cry or beg," he spoke in a brisk tone but his expression conveyed unease. An almost sympathetic look crossed his features. "That's what they want. They take pleasure in it," he continued quickly and quietly. "If you don't give them the satisfaction, make their sport boring, perhaps they will grow tired of you," he hesitated. "And perhaps not," he added with a distant expression.

He looked for a moment like he might continue but thought better of it. Hermione's heart quickened. Scream? Beg? She froze in fear.

At least he'd had the decency to warn her, for that she was appreciative as she readied herself for whatever was to come.

Malfoy's face hardened once more and Hermione took a deep breath as he reached forward, pulling open the large door before gripping her arm more tightly than he previously had.

She winced as he tugged her into the room.

Hermione's stomach dropped as she was greeted by the cold faces of what looked to be thirty death eaters. More than last time. At the head of the room, in a throne befitting the darkest of kings, sat Voldemort. He was as repulsive and smug as she remembered, leering in that malicious and sadistic way of his, the coldness of his eyes burning into her soul as Malfoy ushered her forward and further into the room.

She looked around, taking in the cruel expression on the faces of the men surrounding her, her eyes meeting a few of theirs in terror before at last landing on the long and menacing chain hanging from the ceiling in the middle of the room.

She swallowed hard, her heart racing in her chest as she watched Malfoy move from her side to take his place near the right of the dark lord, his gaze anywhere but on her.

Hermione struggled to calm her rapid breathing as she balled her fists tightly in her hands. She instinctively looked for any sign of Bellatrix but noted her absence gratefully once more. The room was filled with only men.

"At last, Mudblood. We meet again." Voldemort spoke in a satisfied tone, his voice echoing through the expanse of the space as pure silence fell around them.

Hermione noticed how the familiar hiss had faded substantially in his tone. He looked strong, healthy, not at all the frail being she'd known him to be. His features were as twisted and distorted as ever, his skin as pale and repulsive, but the power and strength she saw in his posture and heard in his tone frightened her.

"You gave us quite the slip…eluded us for a long time, Mrs. Granger," he mused, rising steadily from his chair and stepping towards her.

Hermione shivered and instinctively stepped back.

Voldemort narrowed his eyes and flicked his wand effortlessly. She soon found she could not retreat further from him, her feet planted firmly where they stood.

"Who would have thought you'd be the last one standing?" he continued. "Always were a clever one," he taunted. "But in the end I got you just like the rest of your foolish friends," Voldemort snaked closer still, his steps so graceful he gave the illusion of floating.

She cringed as he closed in on her, a shiver running through her spine from the darkness that radiated off of him.

"And now that you are finally mine, I am faced with the question of whatr to do with you, my dear," he leered, moving to stand just inches from her as he towered over her, his malicious followers looking on.

Hermione remained still in stunned silence as she gazed up at him. At last, she swallowed hard, finding the courage she knew was within her.

"Kill me," she spoke clearly, her voice smaller than she'd intended.

Voldemort smirked, shooting her an amused look before a low rumble escaped his chest. His laughter was echoed throughout the room.

"Kill me, she says," he repeated with a dark chuckle. "Oh no my dear, why ever would I kill you yet when there is so much fun we can have with you alive," his tone was malevolent as he circled her slowly, eyeing her with a calculating gaze.

"You see, to kill you would be too easy," he explained. "You are my last true opposition, my last true threat," he looked at her with distain. "A filthy piece of shit, Mudblood like you," he spat.

"I intend to make one last example of you and your people, and I intend to enjoy it immensely," he seethed. "You're much to appealing to go to waste and your uses are far more substantial than Harry or Ron's could ever have been," he chuckled.

She stiffened at his words. "Perhaps one day I will grant you your request for true death and free you from my hold, Hermione Granger. But only after I've destroyed you so entirely that you beg for death at my feet," he stepped behind her, coming closer to her than he'd ever been before, his cool breath leaving Goosebumps on the back of her neck.

"Only after I've tortured you, made you my own personal pleasure slave, passed you as a whore among each of my men, and found I have not one more single use for you will I consider granting you the courtesy of death," he spat.

Hermione's soul plummeted through the floor.

"For what better way to punish and humiliate the last known ally of my greatest enemy?"

Hermione's fury and terror burned within her as he rounded on her once more. She glanced up at him before letting out a long and steady breath.

"You can do all you'd like to me, but it still won't erase the memory and legacy of what Harry did for the wizarding world," she hollered at him, unsure where she was finding the courage in the face of such impossible odds and certain torment. "You may be remembered for eternity for your cruelty, but Harry will be remembered for his sacrifice and ability to fight for what was right."

Voldemort stepped back from her, his eyes narrowing in fury at the witch before him. In his anger he lifted the immobility spell without meaning to and she lunged for him in a second.

But before she could so much as take a step, Voldemort had his wand pointed directly at her and was muttering the words that would soon have her on her knees.

"Crucio!" He yelled, causing an excruciating pain to shoot through Hermione. It tore through her, making every inch of her burn in agony until she found herself curled onto the ground, clawing at it as she cried out in anguish.

She screamed at the top of her lungs as she prayed for the unending torment to end. She felt herself begin to weep from the pain as she withered helplessly. She briefly remembered what Malfoy had said but couldn't help herself. She couldn't physically stop the screams that erupted from her mouth with fury. Couldn't have controlled them if she wanted to.

At last it stopped, and she lay panting against the floor, gasping and retching for air.

"Your tongue may be sharp but it's no match for the sword," Voldemort tantalized as he rounded on her feeble form crouched on the ground.

"The sword perhaps," she breathed. "But I believe you cheated with a wand, like a coward," she retaliated with every inch of strength left in her.

Hermione knew the stupidity of her words and her actions, but she'd never been one to go down without a fight.

"You insolent bitch," Voldemort growled, his wand turning on her again.

In an instant she was consumed again by a blinding pain so sharp she could hardly breathe.

She did not know hold long he held the curse this time—eternity could have passed and she would have believed it—but at last he relented, and she collapsed against the floor in exhaustion once more, barely feeling the wet tears that lined her cheeks.

"Anything else you'd like to say, Mrs. Granger?" He encouraged casually.

Hermione couldn't even find the energy to respond as she panted, her cheek pressed against the cold hard tile of the floor.

"I didn't think so," he snapped, turning and striding away from her swiftly.

Hermione lifted her head just enough to see him take his seat once again at the head of the room.

She sighed in relief but it was short lived.

Moments later she was grabbed roughly by the arms and hauled upright into standing position by two death eaters. Each held one of her arms tightly as she struggled to support her weight.

She hung her head. "Today's humiliation is far from over, Mudblood," Voldemort chuckled as he watched her defeated expression. "There's so much more fun to be had," he said, nodding at the men holding her.

They led her roughly back towards the chain that hung in the center of the room, the one she'd noticed upon entering.

It seemed to be attached to the ceiling and hung almost to the floor.

Her eyes widened in panic.

"You see, Mrs. Granger. Magic is good and fun, but like you so kindly pointed out, sometimes too easy," he eyed her as he spoke, the way she panted heavily as she stared back with as much defiance as she could muster.

"There are those among us, including myself, who have a deep respect for primitive methods of torture. There is nothing more satisfying than watching someone whiter at the power of the human hand," he mused.

His gaze fell on the man to her left. "Strip her from the waste up and chain her hands above her in such a way that she can only touch the ground by the tips of her toes," Voldemort ordered.

Hermione lurched and struggled against the men holding her at his order but it was hopeless.

Her gaze shifted for a moment from Voldemort to the men that surrounded him, each looking on with eager anticipation and smug satisfaction. They all looked like they'd never been so amused or anxious for a good show. All but one.

Draco Malfoy stared at her with the same careful and cold calculation that the rest of the men in the room did. The same mask he was expected to wear. But there was no joy in it, no hint that he was taking pleasure in the spectacle he was witnessing.

He would only meet her gaze for a brief instant, but in that instant she knew that he would not be among the men that snickered jeered at the sight of her pain. And if even one man in the room had a portion of a soul, even if it was Malfoy, it brought her some comfort.

Hermione was tugged to the very center of the room quickly as one man reach forward and gripped her shirt, pulling it off of her swiftly despite her best efforts at struggling against him.

She shivered, left in only her bra as she glanced around in panic at the hungry eyes of more than thirty men on her.

She trembled in humiliation, biting her lip roughly as her eyes welled.

_Don't cry, don't beg, don't let them see your pain._

Her eyes flew to Draco, still watching on vacantly.

She clamped her jaw tightly shut, determined to bare what was to come in strong silence, to do the best she could to seem unfazed by their actions.

One of the men stepped back into line as the other grabbed her arms and reached for the chain.

"I said strip her naked from the waste up," Voldemort growled. He flicked his wand gently and a large and menacing black whip appeared before him, hovering as he caught it in his hands with a sly smirk.

"I want nothing to get in the way of this beautiful piece of leather and that smooth perfect skin," he ordered, his tone excited.

The pleasure he took in exerting pain in others, was disgustingly clear in his expression, anticipation dancing in his eyes.

The death eater restraining Hermione nodded, moving to undo her black bra and throw it to the ground beneath her. Hermione gasped in horror and humiliation, her hands flying to her chest, but they were caught by the bulky man behind her in an instant.

She whimpered, struggling against him franticly, trying to do everything she could to hide herself from the malicious men surrounding her. There were a few snickers at her attempt to fight against the death eater.

Voldemort looked like he was already immensely enjoying himself.

"Please don't," she whispered to the man holding her, loud enough for him to hear but quiet enough that she hopped her plea wouldn't be picked up by the crowd.

His gaze shot to hers but he said nothing, proceeding to gather her wrists and bring them together before intertwining them with the chain and hauling them above her head.

He secured her to the chain despite her best efforts, and she found herself hanging by her wrists in nothing but her jeans, her feet barely able to brush the floor beneath her, causing an excruciating pain to rip through her shoulders as her arms supported her weight. She struggled to touch the ground and relieve it, kicking and lashing about in an effort to break free, to do anything.

The men laughed at her predicament, each of them staring at her helpless state with pleasure.

Her gaze flew to Voldemort and he smiled, a cruel smile.

Hermione's breath came in spurts as he handed the long tantalizing whip to the man that had bound her and ordered him to do the honor of lashing and tormenting her.

The man took it quickly, stepping towards her as he measured her up.

"Please don't," she found herself pleading, despite everything she'd told herself, despite Malfoy's warnings, she had to try.

The man smirked cruelly, rounding on her for show, circling her like a vulture. The onlookers laughed, cheering him on as the crowd became rowdy, hollering in encouragement.

When he came behind her, Hermione panicked and struggled to wind her neck around to see him, not trusting him, never wanting to lose sight of the whip. She wanted time to brace herself in anticipation before it began, she couldn't handle not knowing where he was.

That was the moment that the whip struck her flesh for the first time, leaving a stinging sensation that made her cry out in agony. She winced, taking short breaths and waiting for the burning sensation to pass.

The onlookers cheered.

Hermione felt herself fisting the chain between her hands roughly, needing anything to hold onto and stifle the cries within her.

She felt tears brimming in her eyes but refused to let them spill as she bit her lip, the pain passing.

The whip had not broken her skin, merely reddened it enough to leave it aching and presumably a mark. She was grateful for this.

Just as the pain had begun to subside she was hit with another blow, this time to her lower back.

Hermione withered, stretching her skin away from the man behind her in an effort to escape from him. This time she did not cry out, would not allow herself to. Instead, she bit the skin on the inside of her mouth so hard she drew blood.

She heard the cruel laugh of the Dark Lord echo throughout the room, followed by the amused snickering of his followers.

"This is the best entertainment I've had in years," Voldemort mused as he leaned back in his chair, folding his arms in front of him as he watched with glee. Hermione hung her head, her hair falling in her face as she tried to compose herself.

"Look at her squirm," he mused.

"You know," he hollered at Hermione. "That red haired boy looked just like you do right now the day we tortured and killed him," He provoked.

Hermione opened her eyes and lifted her head long enough to shoot daggers at Voldemort, her heart breaking, aching more than her skin ever could.

"He put on a brave face in the beginning too," Hermione felt her cheeks grow wet with silent tears she could no longer fight. "But in the end he broke. They always break, much like you are right now, my dear," he cooed in a taunting tone.

He paused in contemplation. "Harry was lucky he saw the end with my wand and not my hand, wouldn't you agree?" He pressed.

As if to drive his point home, Hermione felt the sting of another lash against her skin. She bit her lip harder in silence, cringing at the feeling, her irritated skin beginning to sting more with each strike.

"Still feel like you made the right choice, Mrs. Granger?" Voldemort question. "Don't you wish now you'd joined the side of darkness when you had the chance?" he narrowed his eyes at her.

"Never," she spat, the fire that had always been a part of Hermione's spirit was dimming but not by any means burnt out.

Her answer was met with another lash across her skin and she trembled. Voldemort shook his head disapprovingly.

"Give her something to remember me by and then five lashes to her front side," Voldemort ordered.

"Sir, avoid the chest?" Asked her tormenter.

Voldemort hesitated.

"No," he said evenly, a devious look crossing his features, one filled with something that terrified Hermione more than the whip ever could.

She was left no time to ponder It however, as at that moment the whip struck her flesh with such fury that she couldn't stifle the ear piercing scream that erupted from within her.

This time he had broken flesh, purposely. She did not doubt there would forever remain a scar in where she'd been struck.

_Something to remember him by._

Hermione could not smother the sobs that were now escaping her and she hung her head as she felt the small trickle of blood trickle down the bare skin of her back. She hung her head in an attempt to hide this fact as well as the tears that had sprung free.

At last the death eater rounded on her, coming to stand in front of her as he held the whip pointedly in his grasp.

"Head up," he ordered.

She did not move.

"Head up, girl," he repeated.

"Please no more," she begged, hating herself for it. "Please."

"Put your head up," he repeated impatiently.

"Oh for Christ sake, I'm not usually one to get my hands dirty but this is far too appealing," Voldemort hissed.

In a flash he was out of his chair and had moved to stand behind her, dangerously close to where she hung helplessly.

He reached forward, fishing a bunch of her hair and jerking it backwards, forcing her head up.

His other hand found the battered skin of her back and he ran his cool fingers along it in a way that almost soothed and rekindled the pain at once.

She shivered, cringing at the feeling of him touching her and whimpered slightly at the contact.

He moved his mouth close to her eat as he breathed the order. "Go," he commanded the death eater, his breath hot against her skin as he watched her flinch.

In an instant the whip struck the flesh of her chest and stomach, leaving a stinging line clear across her torso. She cried out, Voldemort's face mere inches away from hers as he took in the pain of her features, reveling in it.

He smiled, a dark rumble erupting from his chest.

"Again," he ordered, watching the whip strike her flesh, holding her still as she instinctively moved away from it.

A hand gripped her arm tightly as he firmly held her still, keeping her close to the whip.

"Again," he breathed with a dark smile, his words sending chills through her, causing her to feel physically ill.

This strike hit her across her breasts in such a way, with such fury, that it created a whole new kind of pain. She whimpered.

"Stop," she whispered. "Please stop."

Voldemort smirked, leaning into her ear once more, forcing her head up straighter. "No," he whispered in such a seductive yet powerful tone she ached.

He nodded for the death eater to continue. The man marked her flesh twice more before lowering the whip and tossing it aside.

She let out a shaky breath.

They had finished, but Hermione could not stop the tears. Her skin still burned, Voldemort was still sickeningly close to her. She could not relax—could not stop shaking.

At last he dropped her hair, rounding on her until they stood face to face.

Hermione continued to marvel at how much more human the man now looked despite the circumstance.

He reached forward, flattening his palm against the skin just below her neck, running it down her torso between her breasts. He was refraining from touching her inappropriately yet still managing to do it at the same time.

"Does it sting, darling?" He cooed.

She bit her lip, meeting his eyes with hatred as he dragged his hand to her lower stomach and pulled away.

"Such defiance," he whispered cupping her jaw tightly. She jerked her head away.

"That will be enough for today," he spoke louder, addressing the audience of the room.

She gazed around the room, observing the way most of the onlookers had relaxed and truly enjoyed the show. A few had crossed their arms, many leaned casually against the wall, some clustered in groups and were mumbling to each other, leering at her where she hung.

"Hmm," he contemplated. "Draco," he ordered, motioning for him as Voldemort himself reached up to begin unfastening her ties.

Hermione noted again how involved he had become, how much stronger and hands on he was.

A moment later she sensed Malfoy at the Dark Lord's side but could not bear to glance his way. Now that the pain was beginning to subside, she was becoming more acutely aware again that she was half naked, dirty and crying in front of a room of men, not to mention she was now marred and bleeding and had pathetically pleaded for mercy in front of every one of them.

Voldemort freed her hands, untying her wrists before looking her up and down once more with a shrewdness that made her stomach turn and tossing her roughly to the ground.

Hermione barely caught herself as she flew against the tile, noticing his strength yet again.

"Find the bitch a room," he commanded coldly. "Nothing special and something near you so you can keep an eye on her. She can be your problem for now, I don't have the time to baby sit her," he scoffed turning from them.

"We'll have a meeting later," he called to the room. "I think that's enough fun for one day, on your way," he shooed his followers dismissively as he collapsed lazily onto his throne once more at the head of the room.

Hermione lifted her head and watched as Voldemort took a seat, eyeing the room cunningly as men filed out. Malfoy grabbed her arm, pulling her to stand without a word.

She did not resist, finding she was weak, exhausted and sore.

She put on a show of being able to walk away from the ordeal, not looking at Malfoy but allowing him to lead her from the room. She held the façade just long enough to exit the great double doors and see the last of the death eaters disperse from the room and round the corner out of site.

The second the door slammed behind her with a loud echo, she let go, stumbling slightly as she swayed on her feet. She yanked away from Malfoy's grip, pulling her arm free as she found the closest wall, bracing herself against it.

Hermione felt herself falling to the ground, unable to hold herself up, too sore and humiliated to move, to breathe, to live. She let out a wretched sob as she fell to the ground, bracing her head against the wall, all her strength dissipated.

She felt Malfoy walk up behind her, but did not turn, did not care to.

What she didn't expect was to feel the warmth of his jacket slide across her wounded skin and over her shoulders, covering and warming her.

She tugged it close, glancing at him in surprise with an appreciative look His expression was impossible to read as she finally met his gaze.

He merely tugged her arm again gently and pulled her up, glancing towards the room they'd come from anxiously. Hermione remembered that he was still in there, just feet away, and could come out at any moment. Her heart pounded.

"Come on, Granger," Malfoy encouraged as she stood slowly and painfully, pulling the jacket around her fully. He helped her slip it on before leading her down the hall slowly.

She reached up, brushing stray tears from her face that were quickly replaced with fresh ones. She attempted to pull her messy hair from her face but her efforts were futile.

Walking was difficult. Hermione could still feel herself bleeding ever so slightly, each movement painful. She was exhausted and dizzy, not to mention nocuous from the pain.

Malfoy steadied her, guiding her as they walked, but soon enough she found herself leaning on him with great effort. Stairs proved difficult and finally with a sigh, he reached forward and lifted her in his arms, taking her by surprise, but she did not protest.

He held her carefully as they continued through the house.

She had not enough energy to care that she was vulnerable in the arms of the enemy, for in that moment she trusted him in a way she couldn't comprehend. She was too tired to think of the consequences, of his motives. Too broken.

She sniffled in his arms, still crying softly but he didn't so much as look down. Hermione felt her eyes drooping as she leaned her head against his torso without fully realizing it.

"You were brave today," he spoke quietly after a moment. "Strong. I've seen grown men lose much less dignity than you managed to save."

She glanced up unsure what he meant by the comment, what his motivations were for even speaking to her.

"I tried to do what you said," she whispered weakly. "I tried but I—I couldn't," she breathed. "I tried," she repeated through exhaustion.

"I know," he said slowly.

At last they stopped and he let her down gently, guiding her into a room close by.

It was a good size, plain, but had a bed and an adjoining bathroom with a tub, sink and mirror. It had a large window letting in the late afternoon sun and was simply decorated a beige color.

It had a bed, and that was all Hermione cared for as she stepped from Malfoy's grasp and climbed gingerly onto the mattress, collapsing and curling in on herself as she pulled the covers close.

Malfoy moved to the drapes, pulling them shut and darkening the room substantially.

"Granger, your wounds should be looked at. I'm no healer and I don't know any healing spells but they should at least be washed," He hovered nearby, watching her as she clutched the closest pillow.

She was losing control again, thinking about everything the day had held, everything tomorrow would bring and she let out a quiet sob, stifled only the cotton sheets she clutched to.

"Later. Please, later," she begged softly.

"Christ, Granger. You're going to get me in shit," his tone was annoyed as he tugged his hair back in a frustrated gesture.

She glanced at him over her shoulder. "I'm sorry, Malfoy," she whimpered.

"Later, please," she begged. "I'm so tired."

He stuffed a hand in his pocket before letting out a deep sigh.

"Rest, I'll be back later," he allowed, moving to leave.

"Thank you," she breathed just loud enough that she hoped he heard as he shut the door tightly behind him.

Despite her reeling brain, it was only moments later when Hermione succumb to exhaustion and escaped to the peaceful oblivion of sleep.

* * *

><p><em><strong>I initially intended this story to be a one shot. It looks however like that will not work because there are still a few things I still wish to explore in this very short tale and I found it was becoming too much so I have broken it up into parts.<strong>_

_**Still not sure if this will end up being a two shot or a three shot but like I said, it will be short.**_

_**It's very dark and will only get darker. I apologize for that.**_

_**That being said, what are your thoughts?**_

_**-Meg**_


	2. Chapter 2

**Part Two**

Hermione did not know how long she had been resting, but when she woke, it was not a welcomed feeling. She fluttered back towards consciousness unwillingly. Hermione found her skin ached and stung even when she did not move, and she wished for unconsciousness to devour her once more. But sleep was not merciful enough to take her into its arms again tonight.

She was awake, and she dreaded the fact.

She glanced around, noting that darkness had fallen on the room. She suspected it was late in the evening or early into the morning but could not be sure. There was no clock to glance at.

Hermione sat up gingerly, the material of Draco's jacket sticking to the dried blood of her skin. It tugged and tore at her wounds as she shifted and she winced. She pushed herself against the headboard of the bed she had been given, moving to try and slip her arms from the clothing.

She felt bad about ruining the jacket, even if it did belong to Malfoy. It was a nice jacket, and he…well she had to admit he wasn't as insufferable as he had once been. The fact that he'd bothered to give it to her said as much.

He could have made her walk the halls half naked and further her humiliation. He could have leered at her himself, the way the others had. But he had not. And that fact was not something she found easy to understand.

Hermione winced as she succeeded in pulling the remainder of the jacket off of her gingerly. She glanced down at her marked skin, the ugly red lines that adorned it and shuddered.

Most of them weren't too bad, they would heal without a mark or any help. They had been placed on her skin to humiliate and degrade, and that is what they had done. It was the wound on her back that concerned her, but she could not see it or how bad it truly was, nor could she really reach it to assess the damage.

The bleeding had stopped, that was all she knew; she couldn't assess the extent of the damage on her skin.

Hermione let out a shaky breath as she fisted her hair tightly. She contemplated finding a mirror but found she was terrified to even look at herself, that perhaps if she avoided ever doing it again she could pretend none of this had ever happened. If she didn't have to see it, maybe it didn't have to be real.

She was so tense that she jumped at the sound of the door softly opening behind her.

Hermione instinctively reached for the bed sheets, tugging them against her chest as her head spun in the direction of the intrusion.

Malfoy hesitantly stood in the doorway, stepping inside quietly and shutting the door behind him.

"Finally awake," he nodded, moving closer to her.

"What time is it?" She asked softly, her voice raspy. It was then that she realized how thirsty she was.

"About three am," he replied, moving to the bathroom and disappearing momentarily before reemerging with a glass of water.

She took it gratefully, finishing it in seconds.

He hesitated, grabbing the glass and placing it at her bedside. She could see the way he was eyeing her flesh, staring at it in contemplation but Hermione did not want to think about the tight look on his face or why it was there.

"That needs to be washed," he asserted, his jaw tight.

She crossed her arms tightly across herself before shooting him a look from behind her lashes. "I know, but I cannot reach it, and it hurts to try," she admitted pathetically.

He faltered, staring at her in calculation for a long moment before retreating into the bathroom and returning minutes later with a bowl of water and a rag.

He came to her bedside, setting the bowl down before dunking the rag in to wet it. She flinched, confused.

"Would you prefer I wake a house elf?" He asked cautiously, his tone as commanding as ever but laced with a softness she was just beginning to glimpse at.

She shook her head. Most worked enough as it was and she couldn't trust anyone in this place. She wasn't even sure she could trust the man presently alone with her, vulnerable as she was.

"I thought you might say that," he spoke softly, in almost a whisper as he moved to sit on the edge of her mattress for better access.

She shifted forward to allow him more room, her bare back exposed to him as she hugged the blankets against her chest.

He sat a careful distance from her and twisted the excess water from the rag carefully before moving to press it against her skin. She watched his movements from the corner of her eye and instinctively flinched as his hand drew near her.

Malfoy halted, watching her carefully.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he assured her.

Hermione took a deep breath, closing her eyes at the ridiculousness of the words about to escape her. "I know. I'm…I'm sorry. Jumpy," she apologized.

"Understandable," he mumbled, pressing the cloth gently against her back.

Hermione hissed at the contact, letting out an almost silent whimper at his actions. He stopped, wavering. "It needs to be cleaned," he reasoned. "You'll get an infection."

Hermione knew this to be true; she also knew if that were to happen they wouldn't bother to heal her. If she grew sick from this, they would let her die the slow and painful death. Further, for Malfoy to call for a healer for her would imply that she mattered, a dangerous implication.

She reached forward, bunching the sheets in her hands and fisting them tightly. "Keep going," she gritted her teeth.

Malfoy moved slowly and gently, more so than she would have expected him capable of as he rinsed the dried blood from her flesh. He took great care in his ministrations and for that she was grateful.

"Are they going to do that to me again?" She asked fearfully, her eyes still shut tightly as she rested them against her knees.

His movements faltered. "No," he spoke evenly. "It was an initiation of sorts," he explained. There was a long moment of silence. "Though I cannot assure you that what is to come will be any less torturous than what you endured today."

She swallowed hard. "W-What do you mean? What will they do with me?" She glanced over her shoulder, shooting him a panicked look. Her voice trembled with the question, but she took a steady breath.

Malfoy was an expert at keeping his emotions at bay. He blinked at her, his tone even as he continued to cleanse her skin.

"You are a woman," he paused. "And a prisoner," he shifted slightly behind her. "Leaving out the fact that you aligned yourself with the Dark Lord's one true enemy, your place here will be defined by the former facts, and the latter will only ensure that your treatment is as torturous as you can probably imagine," she felt him tense.

"I am not going to lie to you, Granger," she met his gaze as he swallowed hard. She was grateful for it. "You'll likely be whored amongst the death eaters like he hinted at earlier," he said evenly. "Voldemort has to keep them all happy somehow," he curled his lip as he spoke. "But most evenings I suspect the Dark lord will take you for himself," Malfoy's gaze pierced hers as she shivered at his words. "Whether he will throw domestic duties on top of that is at his discretion. Either way I do not envy your fate," his eyes narrowed as he dunked the rag once more into the bowl.

"And I have a feeling these are not the last of your scars," he added as an afterthought.

Hermione was shaking as he quieted. She almost wished he had lied to her. She turned her head from him once more as she stared at the sheets in horror.

"Malfoy," she whispered, pausing. "If I asked you to kill me, would you?" She spoke, her voice calm, almost emotionless as she processed her fate.

"What?" He scoffed. "Granger—"

"Right now. If I begged you to kill me, would you do it?"

She did not turn to see his expression, did not care to.

"There is much I would do were I not under his control," his voice was low when he replied. "But I do not think killing you would be on that list," he replied.

"It would be better than all this," she whispered distantly.

There was a moment of silence and Malfoy took the opportunity to finished cleaning her wounds.

"You chose to linger in his control," she added after a moment of internal contemplation.

He scoffed quietly, setting the rag down. "Did I?" He mused.

She shot him a confused glance, turning on the mattress to face him but he merely shook his head. "Forget it," he breathed.

He stood abruptly, moving to grab something she hadn't seen him bring in and tossing it at her. She caught the large navy blue t-shirt in her hands, furrowing her eyebrows.

"It was the biggest one I could find. Shirt, pajamas…It'll have to do for now," he shrugged, glancing away distantly.

"I suspect you'll be left alone tomorrow, if you're lucky for a few days but don't count on it to last. Building and dashing hopes is part of his mind game. I don't know when he'll be giving you something to wear that is to his liking, but that will suffice for the time being," his gaze found her wounded form once more. "If I were you, Granger, I'd get some more rest while you can," his tone was commanding.

She nodded stiffly, throwing the t-shirt over her head and pulling it down. It hung loosely on her frame but she was grateful for its comfort nonetheless. She breathed in deeply, the faintly familiar smell of vanilla surrounding her, the scent of a distantly recognizable men's body wash. Had it belonged to Draco, or someone else? She tried not to take comfort in the pleasant aroma.

"Thank you for being honest with me," she said at last. "And for your help. I don't pretend to be naïve to the risks of stepping out of place in a position such as yours," she said carefully.

"You are under my watch," he said abruptly. "I've done nothing but keep you alive," he asserted firmly.

"Goodnight, Granger," he finished sternly, turning on his heels and exiting the room swiftly, leaving her mind reeling once again.

Hermione tugged her jeans off, leaving her to relax in the large shirt. She was careful to let her wound breathe as she lay on her stomach gingerly, hugging her pillow tightly.

She sighed deeply. Not knowing what the morning would bring, she took Malfoy's advice to heart and drifted off to sleep once more despite her lack of exhaustion.

So far trusting him had not steered her wrong, but that was precisely the danger in it.

* * *

><p>For two days Hermione was left alone.<p>

She was not permitted to leave the room she had been confined too, but she didn't care. She was grateful not to be touched or bothered. She was grateful for the time to begin to heal and regain her strength, for the hours of sleep and warm food left for her. House elves came and went, and once she was even permitted a bath, but she paid them no mind. Her back was healing. It had scabbed over and was fading, but she knew the mark would never truly be gone.

She could have forgotten herself, if it weren't for the looming truth that always seemed to follow her—this mini vacation would end. And the dread that was always pitted in her stomach when she thought of the coming days was enough to make her sick.

Hermione couldn't stop herself from contemplating an escape plan. She spent the hours alone scheming, checking windows and doors—which were all charmed shut with alarms—and peeking out windows to get a handle on the mansion's layout.

All of her efforts boiled down to one conclusion—it was hopeless.

Should she run she would die—but isn't that what she wanted anyway?

* * *

><p>It was mid-day when Malfoy came for her, a grave look in his eye.<p>

He was fisting a bunch of cloth in his hand as he entered the room, closing the door gently behind him as one of the house elves bustled out with an empty tray.

Malfoy walked over to where she was sitting by the window in an old armchair, one leg pulled up to her chest as she gazed distantly away from him. He tossed something at her and it fell in her lap.

"Put this on," he ordered, stepping around her thoughtfully, his own gaze distant.

She glanced up at him, turning it over in her hands.

"What is it?" She asked monotone.

"Part of your new wardrobe," he replied.

Hermione held it up before her. It was a dress, if you could call it that. More of a tunic style, with a low v-cut neckline. It was short and a light cream color, a small line of beading ran across the center at the waistline.

She swallowed. "Isn't there anything…longer?" She asked quietly.

"On the contrary," Malfoy replied. "All pleasure slaves are dressed like so," he mumbled.

Her heart sank at the term—_pleasure slave._

She looked up at him desperately, his eyes cold.

"Stop. Put it on," he ordered shortly.

She stood hesitantly, waiting for him to leave.

Malfoy groaned, turning away from her but not moving to go anywhere.

Hermione waited, on edge, to make sure he wouldn't turn before reluctantly undressing and slipping the material over her body.

She tugged her fingers through the wavy locks of her bed hair, before beginning to pull at the bottom of the skirt.

"K," she mumbled as Malfoy turned back.

She fidgeted, noticing the way her cleavage stuck out the top. The entirety of her legs were bare. She worried that if she bent over everything would show. She had been given a limited amount of fresh undergarments a few days prior with bathroom necessities and was grateful for that at least.

Hermione pulled on the material trying to gain as much coverage as she possibly could, biting her lip uncomfortably as her cheeks flushed. "It's not going to get any longer no matter how much you tug on it," Malfoy added with an amused glare.

Hermione's face fell at his attempt to lighten the mood. She caught sight of herself in a mirror across the room but only allowed a brief glance.

She looked nice, pretty even, but the notion was a dangerous one within these walls. She swallowed hard, crossing her arms across her chest.

Malfoy sighed, stepping towards her as his tone became business once more.

"He's called for you," he said at last, the mask that often adorned his features had returned.

"N-Now?" she fumbled, her heart racing in her chest.

He nodded.

Hermione trembled before him, as she took a step back without even realizing she had done so. She shook her head viciously.

Malfoy stepped ever closer to her still. "Listen to me, Hermione," he begged. It was the first time he'd ever spoken her name. His eyes were full of passion and authority.

"The first time he takes you will be a public spectacle, a way of claiming you as his own," he explained bluntly. Hermione shook her head, unwilling to hear what he was saying. "Afterwards I expect his time with you to be private," he continued.

"No," Hermione whispered, her voice barely audible.

He hesitated, his posture stiff as he lowered his voice.

"Are you a virgin?" He asked quickly.

Her breath hitched, her cheeks flushing.

"W-what?" She managed, horror filling her through and through.

"Answer the question," he demanded. She fumbled, at last nodding in confirmation.

His face dropped. "Christ," he breathed, running a frustrated hand through his hair.

"Remember what I told you last time?" He asked, his tone defeated as he stared at the carpet before him.

"Y-yes," she whispered fearfully.

"It still applies," he paused. "You were brave last time. Strong," he asserted. "Be stronger."

Her breath hitched. Hermione felt her eyes welling. She was not hearing this. It was not real.

"No. Don't," he warned watching her suppress tears. "Don't."

Her breath came in spurts. "Don't give them the satisfaction. Don't walk in there like this," he warned.

"I can't-I"

"You can."

"How do you expect me to walk in there knowing—knowing," her voice cracked in panic.

"I can't—I—please don't do this Malfoy," she begged. "Please."

His eyes narrowed as he watched her, a hint of anguish crossing his features as he struggled to contain it.

"I—" he faltered, gaping at her as she fell apart before him.

"We have to go," he spoke at last.

No.

Without thinking, she tried the only think she could think to do, her one and only chance—she bolted. She wouldn't have been able to live with herself if she didn't try.

Hermione shot straight for the door, catching him off guard as she flung it open and sprang down the hallway at full force. She heard Malfoy growl in annoyance behind her as he took off after her.

Hermione had never been a fast runner, but she believed that there was something in the adrenaline of literally running for her life that gave her an edge.

She took corners with fury, skimming walls as she rounded them, never daring to look behind her to see how close she was to captivity when she was running full throttle towards freedom.

She got farther than she'd anticipated, but not far enough before she went crashing into the wall in front of her violently as Malfoy threw his weight against her, pinning her still.

Hermione gasped as he clamped her wrists to her side, his breathing hard on the back of her neck as they both struggled to catch their breath.

"Nice try," he breathed. She could feel his smirk against her skin. "You wouldn't be the woman I know if you hadn't tried that once," he chuckled darkly, the weight of his body pressed flush against hers, their forms touching in almost every possible way.

Hermione rested her head against the wall in defeat as he moved away from her. The scent of vanilla surrounded her at his proximity.

He grabbed her upper arm firmly. "Come on, Granger," he panted.

* * *

><p>When Draco led her silently into the large room that was quickly becoming her personal torture hall, she quickly noticed the differences from the last time she'd been there.<p>

The room had been rearranged so that its entirety centered on a large table at the center.

Again, death eaters loomed amongst the edges and Voldemort sat in his thrown wearing an expression fitting the king of darkness.

Hermione felt herself shaking; she wondered if Draco could feel it too. She tried her best to steady herself and put on a brave face as he dropped his grip from her arm and stepped away from her, moving to take his rightful place amongst the others.

He was not on her side after all, never had been and never would be. He belonged to them. Their separation and her loneliness in the situation had never been made so clear than in that small gesture as he stepped across the room leaving her alone and defenseless.

Hermione knew her fate, understood it, detested it, and accepted it. There was nothing she could do but put on the hardest face she could muster. Her stomach turned.

"You clean up well, Miss. Granger," Voldemort called, his voice echoing slightly across the room. She remained stoic, balling her fists tightly in her hand.

Hermione tried not to think of the way the dress rose up her thighs and plunged down her neckline, exposing more than she cared to share. She felt the eyes of every man in the room on her. _Even his._

She swallowed hard as she met Voldemort's gaze steadily.

"Wouldn't you agree?" He encouraged, glancing around the room at his followers. There was a low rumble of grunts and cackles as the men of the room leered at her.

"Not the prettiest thing I've entertained…but nowhere near the ugliest," he mused, standing abruptly as he waved his wand absent mindedly, his eyes narrowing on her.

"Shouldn't have a problem…performing," he continued, stepping towards her with that eerie slowness that sent chills down her spine. "Though it's not my performance they're all here to see, is it darling?" His voice was low, tantalizing, and in an instant he was beside her, his fingers gripping her jaw tightly as he breathed in her ear. "It's yours."

Hermione jumped and the room let out a roar of laughter. She didn't look to see if _he_ was laughing with them.

Voldemort grinned, a cruel grin, his grip finding her arm and she pulled it free instantly.

He shook his head. "Didn't learn anything last time, you little pain in the ass?" He snipped, frustrated as he put a binding spell on her, her arms tugging behind her back in an instant, seemingly held there with nothing but the dark magic of Voldemort's wand.

Hermione jerked against it, but she couldn't even move.

Voldemort slowly turned towards his followers once more. "Ahh, Draco," he almost hissed. "She's been under your charge?" He asked.

Malfoy nodded stiffly, his arms crossed, one raised, hovering lightly above his lip as he faced the Dark Lord with as much intensity as he was dishing out.

"How has she been behaving?" He asked pointedly.

"Fine," Malfoy answered shortly.

"Fine?" Voldemort's tone held a challenge.

Malfoy nodded stiffly in confirmation once more.

"Obedient?"

"Yes," he responded again flatly, and she shot him a grateful look.

"Not one act of defiance?" Voldemort challenged.

Malfoy hesitated. "No," he said evenly. Hernione's heart rate quickened.

"Ah, well then tell me, Draco, if you please. Why is it that Travers informed me earlier that he saw you chasing her amongst the manner this afternoon?" He challenged evenly, no hint of betrayal evident in his voice. Voldemort was and always had been careful with his words.

Malfoy stiffened. A small smirk played on his face, but Hermione saw no humor in it. "Well, I didn't consider that an act of defiance so much as stupidity. We both knew she was going nowhere. I summed it up to the bitch being bored…wanting a little excitement," he added a small chuckle for effect. "Or just the satisfaction of me pinning her to a wall," he added with a suggestive edge.

Smooth as ice.

"Ah," Voldemort laughed lightly playing along. "Well then, you wouldn't mind coming over here and assisting me as I teach her some respect then, would you?" Voldemort said evenly.

Hermione wondered at the way he saw through everyone. But perhaps Malfoy wasn't playing at all. Perhaps the only time he had played anyone, it had been her.

"Not at all," Malfoy answered with a dark smirk, stepping forward with purpose.

Voldemort released the spell from Hermione's body just in time to toss her violently against the table set up behind them. She cried out as her head wacked against the wood forcefully, leaving her momentarily dizzy as she tried to clear her head.

"Hold her still," he ordered Draco. "Jugson," he ordered another man. "Help him."

Hermione blinked hard as she fought to regain control of the situation—though she knew she'd never had it to begin with.

In a flash, a strong pair of arms were gripping hers, pinning them down to the table beneath her as she squirmed violently. She blinked, glancing up with defiance to see Malfoy peering down at her intently, his eyes shooting her a purposeful look.

She shot him a look of betrayal. Hurt built within her before she remembered again what he had said to her and stiffened her upper lip.

"Once again, this is far more fun than magic," Voldemort chuckled. "I like to watch them squirm."

Hermione gritted her teeth as Voldemort tossed his cloak over his head. In truth, she was surprised by the action, but even more surprised at the sight that followed. The black denim jeans, the toned body of a man pared with the cruel face of the devil. It was here that she saw the place where Tom Riddle ended and Voldemort began. Intertwined were the two somewhere in the intricacies of this body.

He leered down at her, a malevolent look in his eye and her heart pounded in her chest. Hermione clamped her jaw tightly, defiantly as she gazed back with just as much passion, her arms struggling against their restraints.

Malfoy shifted, grabbing hold of her right arm tightly and holding it down as the other man reached for her left. It was then that she moved to kick Voldemort, lunging her feet forward with as much force as she could muster.

Voldemort chuckled, grabbing her upper thigh tightly to stop her as he pulled himself towards her. "Nice try, sweetheart," he mused, leaning over her slightly, his surprisingly strong biceps flexing with his motions. "Such a feisty little creature," he whispered, his eyes dancing with anticipation as his arm snaked further up her thigh, moving her against her skin slowly. He leaned down, hovering closer to her as his form crawled towards her.

"And beautiful at that," he spoke in a low mumble, his hands wondering further, running the length of her torso over her dress.

Some of the men that lingered in the room moved closer to the spectacle for a better look, but as she glanced around in panic she noticed that the scene was much as it was the last time. Some men interested, others merely hovering like they'd seen it all before. Nonetheless she knew he would try to put on a good show.

Hermione closed her eyes tightly in a wince as Voldemort's hands skimmed the material over her breasts, cupping them roughly through the fabric.

She withered without realizing she was doing it but did not make a sound. _Don't give them the satisfaction._

She glanced up, seeing the coldness of his eyes devouring her body like his last supper. Such hunger. Such malice. She took a deep breath as he tugged at the material of her dress, pulling it down as he gripped it, arranging the material in such a way that her breasts poked through.

She grimaced, her face growing hot as she shut her eyes once more. She clamped them tightly. Somehow pretending he wasn't there made her feel better.

Voldemort grabbed her hips firmly, pulling them closer to the edge of the table as he undid his jeans sliding them off. Hermione trembled at the sight. She could hear him sheading the remainder of his clothing until he was bare before her but couldn't stomach watching as she kept her eyes shut.

There was a sharp blow to the side of her face. Hermione cried out.

"Look at me when I'm fucking you," he snarled, reaching forward to rip the top of her dress impatiently, fully exposing her breasts to him as he reached down fisting them roughly. He tore off her bra in a quick movement, literally tearing the material off of her; such was the power of his strength.

He slapped, toyed with and pinched her nipples torturously.

Hermione arched her back in pain.

At last she felt him slipping her skirt up, hiking it around her waist and tearing her panties off violently. She'd never wondered at the logistics of the act before now. Voldemort had died and been reborn so many times, she often speculated if his body had the functions of a…well, man. However, as she gazed back up towards those cold piercing eyes, she'd never seen so much human in him, so much life, and so much power.

Hermione stiffened as he ran his hands tantalizingly along her upper thighs before at last brushing across the last place she ever wanted them. Her body tensed in a rigidly before withering as he jammed a finger inside of her roughly. She gritted her teeth at the uncomfortable sensation.

Voldemort chuckled. "This is too good," he grinned in pleasure. "She's a virgin," he hollered for all to hear. "Even a finger is painful," he mused, pure amusement and delight in his tone, his eyes dancing with excitement. "So much better than I could have hoped for," he continued, eyeing her with even more hunger.

Hermione was mortified. She didn't dare look in the direction of the men holding her. Couldn't stomach it. She couldn't even bear the thought of breathing another moment, and wished she could sink into the table and die.

Of all the ways Hermione had envisioned her first time, this had not been one of them. A woman in her late teens, she had held out despite the opportunities she'd been given, for that moment—the one with the special man and the special place. The one you remembered forever.

Hermione would certainly remember this forever. She felt ill.

He hovered over her, his cool skin pressing flush against the exposed skin of her chest and she shivered. Hermione twisted her head away as he whispered in her ear. "You're mine now," he breathed hoarsely.

She could feel the evidence of his arousal pressed against her, knew he wasn't going to play games much longer, but the moment he grabbed her hips roughly and plunged inside of her with his full force, the pain still shot through her like lightening.

As hard as Hermione bit her lip in that moment in an effort to stifle her cries, she could not. They echoed through the room, a piercing scream of pain she could not hold back.

She had been tortured, beaten and whipped at their hands. But this pain was one of an entirely different brand. A pain so deep and so hurtful she couldn't even explain it.

She knew he had only managed to enter her part way because of how unready she was for him, could feel it, and couldn't imagine the feeling of him moving further inside of her, of his rough assault against her continuing a moment longer.

Hermione felt tears spill from the corner of her eyes, silent tears seeping from her closed lids as she winced, tears that she could not control. She jumped slightly as she felt the firm pressure of another hand in hers. It squeezed her right hand steadily for a moment before releasing it just as quickly.

Her eyes shot in his direction. In those brief moments, time seems to freeze.

Malfoy's expression conveyed nothing, his face more expressionless than she'd ever seen it. But in that moment he had risked everything to show her support, and that was something in itself.

When she was sure no one had noticed the exchange, she tore her tormented gaze from his to focus on the ceiling with determination. Voldemort hissed in pleasure as he edged himself forward even further, his movements harsh.

Hermione whimpered. She felt like sobbing, begging for him to stop. But she did not. Could not. _Don't give them the satisfaction._

The words held such power for her, and so she repeated them, over and over in her head as the tears fell silently in a stream, as her body withered. She silently bore the assault. Silently moved through the pain.

Once he'd finally filled her to the brim and Hermione felt sufficiently like she was being torn in half, Voldemort pulled out of her swiftly, pushing back in mercilessly the way he had before.

His movements were cruel, quick, and as rough and painful as he could possibly manage.

He groped at her body, his hands violating every inch of it, leaving no place untainted.

"So fucking tight," he hissed, and the men jeered him on. "She'll make a good little slut boys," he called as he slammed into her at a faster pace than before.

They laughed and he seemed to get off on the sound, the encouragement of his cruelty, and the eyes of his men on him as he claimed his prize. Voldemort assaulted her body in every way he could. He squeezed, groped and slapped the flesh of her breasts as he thrust into her. His fingers toyed with the sensitive skin between her legs in a mocking gesture. His eyes devoured her with a hunger she'd never known.

Hermione's eyes slammed shut again and she could not find the strength to open them. Voldemort was too lost in his own pleasure to notice or care, and soon his movements became so rapid that with each thrust he was slamming the table backwards into the bodies of the men holding her. She could feel it creaking, feel the force, the pain, but could do nothing but whither hopelessly.

Hermione felt a sharp blow to the side of her face, felt the blood break and seep from her lip, matching the blood running between her legs and she cried out in shock and discomfort. It was what he needed to get off, the physical conformation of her pain that finally left him wrenching and moaning as he gripped her so tightly she was sure he would leave marks as he came inside of her.

He pulled out quickly to her relief and stroked himself, riding out the last of his pleasure as his chest heaved in satisfaction.

"Fuck," he roared in victory, his breath heavy.

The death eaters in the room chuckled in response, each of them seemed as satisfied as their leader.

"What a good fuck she is," he called, backing away from her as he glanced down, admiring his handiwork, the broken girl that lay splayed out before them all, covered in blood and tears, crying silently in her misery.

The men holding her released her arms and she pulled them down, rubbing them gently as she clutched them against her chest protectively.

"Who wants a piece of her?" He offered to the room. There were a number of low mummers of interest and Hermione's stomach plummeted.

"Just one for today, she's bleeding too much. We don't want to kill her…yet," Voldemort jeered.

She saw a number of vicious looking men step forward, but the voice that called out was the last one she would have anticipated.

"I do," Malfoy said evenly from behind her, stepping around her shaking form towards his lord.

Hermione's heart stopped. She blinked at him in horror and disbelief.

"Draco?" The Dark Lord mused, eyeing him curiously. He smirked proudly.

"I've been waiting for this day for a long time," he asserted, nodding in approval. "I knew there was a true darkness inside of you."

Draco nodded at his agreement and mumbled a thanks before turning towards Hermione's terrified form.

He reached for the zipper of his pants, undoing them and tugging them down slightly. Hermione couldn't quite think, couldn't quite breathe. _Touche, Malfoy_. The brightest witch of her age had never felt like such an idiot. Had never felt so betrayed or mislead. He'd finally gotten a revenge on her so sweet she wondered just how many years he'd been dreaming it up.

He leaned over her, resting his arms on either side of her head as he whispered in her ear, his breath hot on her skin, making her shiver.

"I know that you will never forgive me this," he breathed softly. "But would you rather them or me?" He asked regrettably.

He caught her frightened, tear filled gaze for a moment and she glanced around at the menacing faces that watched the scene with delight. At last she understood what he was doing, and in a strange way, she was grateful for it.

"I thought so," he asserted. "I'm sorry," he whispered passionately. She stared at him blankly and he rose, reaching for his pants once more.

"What's all the chitchat?" A death eater called from the sidelines. "Get on with it, Draco."

Malfoy's face hardened once more. The smirk returned. "Just telling her how much pleasure I'm going to get from fucking her little cunt right through the table," he hollered back. "You should've heard her whimper," he laughed.

A few other followed suit and she marvelled at his skill for deception, the very thing that was saving and ruining her all at once.

Malfoy did not shed his clothing but merely pushed it aside. His eyes wondered her half naked form for a few long moments as he stroked himself in preparation. She wondered who he was actually thinking about and fantasizing about.

At last, he gripped her hips surprisingly gently and entered her with the same care. She was so sore and so torn, that she couldn't help but cry out in response. Malfoy did not falter.

He did not touch her in any way, other than to steady himself at her hips as the touched the edge of the table. He looked at her without really even seeing her, his eyes vacant, his movements rhythmic. When she began to struggle with the pain, despite her exhaustion, he reached for her arms, pinning them to her sides.

She knew his thrusts had to be harsh enough not to draw attention, but couldn't help but notice the care he took as he moved. Couldn't help but see how much he was trying, despite everything not to injure her further. He could have thrown her around, took her with such force she begged him to stop, but he did not. In every way he could possibly be, he was gentle. Gentle in a way no other man in the room would have been.

"She is fucking tight," he called with a sneer over his shoulder, earning an encouraging murmur.

"She's too quiet," Voldemort encouraged. "I'm bored."

That was all he had to say.

Hermione felt a sharp blow to the side of her face and she cried out once more at the unexpected action.

"Much better."

Malfoy remained stoic as Hermione looked up at him with hatred. A hand flew to her cheek in horror. Somehow the fact that he'd just slapped her had wounded her more than his assault on her lower body.

He reached for her arm, forcing it against the table again roughly.

A few minutes later, it was finally over. Malfoy wasn't nearly as theatrical in his release. He kept is short and sweet. He pulled out of her even quicker than Voldemort had and fixed himself, adjusting his clothing in a matter of seconds.

He turned to the Dark lord stiffly and Voldemort nodded in approval.

Hermione looked around, noticing a few of the men touching themselves with pleasure as they watched on. She repressed the urge to vomit.

"The rest of you can have her another day. That's enough for now, I'm bored," he waved his hand dismissively, still in his naked glory. "Off with you," he called, grabbing his clothing and throwing some of it on. "Out of my sight," he mumbled.

"Draco, take her back to her room," he ordered. "I want her ready for me tomorrow night after dinner," he ordered sharply, knowing every command would be followed without a second thought.

Draco nodded, turning towards Hermione again. He glanced down at her, shivering and holding herself as if she might untangle before his eyes. She bit her lower lip, stifling the sobs she'd yet to let escape.

He reached for her to help her stand but she instinctively cringed from him. A wounded expression flashed across his features, but in an instant, it was gone, his posture as collected as ever.

"Come on," he encouraged softly, reaching for one of her arms firmly as he tugged her upright.

Hermione winced at the pain of the movement, allowing herself to be made to stand. She nearly fell forward as her feet hit the ground, but Malfoy caught her firmly in his grasp, holding her still as he glanced around cautiously towards the mingling death eaters.

"Just walk out of here, and then you can let go," he breathed quietly, urging her forward as she took a painful step. She could feel the blood between her legs as she walked and it made her physically ill.

Hermione leaned on Malfoy, resting most of her weight against him as he supported her and hobbled painfully from the room.

She didn't stop this time. Needed to keep going, needed to get as far away from all of it as she could. As far away from _him_ as she could. She tugged at her clothing, moving the material back into place in an effort to situate the dress in a way that covered her again.

They rounded a corner, and another, and another, until at last Hermione couldn't take it anymore and she let go of him, tumbling to the ground. Draco moved to catch her but he was not quick enough. "Granger," he breathed. "Get up."

She could not. She didn't know whether to throw up or cry. Her body chose for her as she gazed up at him from her crumbled position on the floor and let out a loud sob.

"It hurts," she choked, her voice broken.

He winced. "I know," he whispered, reaching down to scoop her up once more.

She found herself curled in his arms for the second time and marveled at it. Marveled at the way she instinctively curled into his chest as she sobbed heavily in pain—the chest of the man that had just aided in raping her and then done so himself.

He carried her back to her room the way he had the last time and she wept in his arms, sobbing with each step, wincing at every shift in his grip. Her breaths came in spurts as she tried to regain control but could not.

At last she felt him reaching for the door, the familiar smell and sight of her room coming into view. She gripped at the fabric of his shirt without even realizing she was doing it and he carried her towards her bed, setting her down gently on the mattress.

She pulled her knees to her chest, hugging herself in a desperate fetal manner as she sniffled.

She watched as Malfoy shrugged off his jacket, throwing it over her shoulder before he began to pace the room in a frustrated manner. She breathed in the comforting scent of vanilla, tugging it closely around her body as she watched him tug at his hair like he might rip it from his scalp.

He paused briefly to stare stoically out the window before at last turning towards her trembling form.

His face was tormented. "I suppose it's time to clean you up again," he spoke softly, watching her with a calculating gaze.

Hermione did not respond, but Malfoy moved to the bathroom to find a towel and cloth nonetheless. This scene was becoming far too familiar for her liking.

He returned a moment later, sitting hesitantly on the edge of her bed. She jerked away from him, pushing back towards the headboard painfully.

"I am not going to hurt you," he whispered.

"You've said that before," she choked. "And you already have."

"Hermione," he whispered.

"Don't call me that," she snapped furiously. "Don't touch me. Don't even come near me."

He groaned in frustration. "If it hadn't of been me, do you have any idea what some of those men are capable of?" His voice rose in agitation.

She blinked at his tone. "Do you understand that you raped me," she breathed, wiping the remaining tears from her cheeks as her breathing steadied.

He nodded. "Yes. That knowledge will always weigh heavily on me," his tone was earnest.

"More heavily than the others?" She scoffed.

"There have been no others," he snapped at the presumption. There was a moment of silence in which their gazes lingered and broke.

"Do _you_ understand, that I was doing you a favor," he whispered gently after a moment.

In a strange way she did. She nodded, gripping his jacket in a frantic clutch. "But why," she breathed.

Draco stared at her blankly. "What do you mean?"

She glanced up at him behind wet lashes. "Why are you helping me," she asked. "Not just today but…since I've come here. You hated me at Hogwarts, and I you. I don't understand wh—"

"Granger," he silenced her in a firm tone. "I have done nothing."

"Bullshit," she cried in frustration. "You have no idea how much you've done to help me through this," she cried out, tears springing to her eyes once more. "I would be on my knees without you, Malfoy. Just tell me why the fuck you keep picking me back up," she pleaded.

"Don't," he ordered in a warning tone.

"No," she narrowed her eyes. "What is it you want, why are you doing this?"

His face contoured at her words. "I want nothing," he spoke softly. "Don't make me out to be a hero," he shook his head, hanging it as he spoke. "I've done nothing I'm proud of."

"I just don't understand you," she choked.

"Please stop trying to," he breathed, reaching for the wet rag.

He held it tightly in his grip for a long time before meeting her gaze again.

"Are you still bleeding?" He asked at last.

Hermione blushed, glancing down. "I don't believe so."

"Good," he mumbled. "How much pain are you in," he asked softly.

She bit her lip, recoiling as she winced, quickly remembering it too was split open.

"Granger," he encouraged. "How much."

"It hurts," she admitted softly, sniffling.

"I wish I was as bright as you at spells," he admitted in frustration.

She chuckled. "Even I know of few that would help these injuries," she admitted shamefully.

Malfoy reached forward hesitantly, inching closer to her on the mattress. He raised his hand slowly, the way one would approach a frightened animal, inching it tentatively towards her face.

He cupped her jaw gently, turning it side to side, his eyes examining each mark carefully.

"I did that," he breathed, his eyebrows creasing with disgust.

"Your master had a hand in it too," she breathed, not sure why she was trying to numb the pain of the man who had in fact marred the very skin he was attempting to soothe.

He ran his thumb gently across the skin of her jaw before releasing it.

"I'll get you some pain killers. It's all I can do," he concluded.

Silence fell around them once more

"Malfoy," she spoke tentatively, her eyes still shimmering in the dim moonlight.

"Mmm?"

"There were no birth control spells used this afternoon, were there?" Hermione asked sadly, knowing the answer before she even asked.

He shook his head. "To do so would imply that it mattered whether or not you bore a bastard child. To them it doesn't," he answered evenly.

Her heart sank. She rested her head on her knees as she took a deep breath.

"Would it matter to you?" She mumbled into the fabric of her torn and dirtied dress.

Silence.

She looked up at last, seeing the pure weight in his shoulders as his mind reeled before her.

"Would it matter whether it was his or yours, whether it lived at all?"

"Of course it would matter," he replied, swallowing hard.

She decided not to press the issue, seeing how deeply it cut him, how much thinking he still had to do about it himself.

"What happens to the slave children?" She asked after a moment.

"Unless liberated by their master or acknowledged publicly as kin by their father, they are destined to the same fate as their mother," he answered mechanically, his expression distant as he stared at the nearest wall intently.

Hermione had suspected as much.

Silence found them once more.

"If I asked you to kill me now, would you?" She asked hopefully, disrupting the stillness of the room.

He glanced up, a look of anguish betrayed him. He shook his head. "Promise me you won't do anything stupid."

"I can't promise you that," she whispered in the dark, her words barely carrying the short distance between them.

"Don't make me survey you around the clock. If you wish to spend each night handcuffed under my watch I'll have no choice but to do it," he threatened.

"If you off yourself, Granger, the Dark Lord will be furious that he's lost his new play toy so soon and that you've denied him the satisfaction," he paused. "He'll have my head."

"Always self-preserving, Malfoy," she mused with a sarcastic edge. "My life doesn't mean shit to you unless my fate is locked with yours. Once that is relinquished, you won't have to come in here pretending to care about whether my wounds are cleaned or inquiring about my discomfort," she snatched the wet rag from his hand and pushed his jacket off of her shoulders, tossing it at him.

She painfully uncurled her legs, moving to clean herself up, rubbing the blood off the best she could, scrubbing her skin so hard she worried it might bleed but found she did not care. Hermione had always been a woman who could take care of herself. She'd never depended on a man for help and she wasn't about to start now.

Just because she could barely stand without his aid, didn't mean she needed him.

"You don't understand," he argued, watching her scrub her skin raw.

"I understand you as well as I always have, Malfoy," she assured him. "You don't have to sit here pretending you give a shit a moment longer," she shouted in agitation, reaching for the large t-shirt he had given her the few days prior.

She'd been given other pajamas but they all felt stifling compared to the comfort a baggy shirt, most of them borderline lingerie.

She painfully peeled off her tight dress, tossing it to the ground before slipping the shirt over her head. Malfoy's eyes widened in shock but it wasn't like he hadn't seen every inch of her just hours before. Wasn't like he wouldn't see it again.

"Tomorrow," she breathed as she tugged the blankets close to her. "Voldemort will have me to himself for an entire night, and the experience will be a greater hell than I knew today," she asserted. "And then he will have me again, and again," her voice cracked. "But I will survive it, because that's what I've always done," she grabbed a pillow, pulling it close to her as she collapsed against the pillow. "I always survive, Malfoy. Even when it's the last thing I want."

Silent tears leaked from her lids as she hugged her pillow tightly, like clutching it might take away all the pain in the world. It reminded her of the large stuffed dog she used to hug at night as a child—the one that always took her pain away.

She winced with each movement, her body sore, her lip fat, her eye black. She should have showered. She should have taken pain killers like Malfoy had suggested. But all she wanted to do was sleep.

Malfoy said nothing, just watched her steadily. "I'm not going anywhere tonight, you can go to bed," she assured him with a sigh as she closed her eyes, silent tears falling but no sound of pain accompanying them.

"I don't want to leave you," he said softly.

"I just told you I'm not going to—"

"Not just because of that," he admitted, faltering.

He looked her over, her broken frame, the hallow shell of a woman before him. He looked like he might move towards her but stopped himself.

"What you went through today…"

"Is what I can expect from my life from now on," she finished for him. "You told me that."

"I'm your prisoner not your problem," she mumbled. "I'm going to cry myself into exhaustion whether you're watching or not. Goodnight," she insisted.

There was so much left to be said. So much to discuss, so many words to be had on both ends. But she didn't have the energy to keep sparing with him, to keep questioning his motives every time he opened his mouth. And he didn't have the will to make her do anything; it was an exhausting endeavor he had run out of energy for as well.

"If you need something," he added as he stood slowly. "My room is the next one over on the left," he whispered. It was the first time he'd told her that. Probably the first time he'd trusted her with the information.

She nodded absentmindedly.

He left quietly, only pausing at the door long enough to glance back at her body as it slipped into unconsciousness and whisper in a tone so quiet he barely heard himself. "I'm sorry, Granger."

* * *

><p><strong>I know this was a painful chapter and another difficult one to read, but such is the tone of the story. <strong>

**Like I said before, not sure how long this will be, but this is not the last instalment. **

**thoughts are greatly appreciated. :)**

**-Meg **

**Twitter - Jbdemi71**


	3. Chapter 3

**Part Three**

A numbness had made its way to Hermione's soul, entangling itself in the intricacies of her body, penetrating her very core. Despite the many hours of rest, when she awoke the next morning, she felt exhausted and heavy.

She glanced around at the light pouring through the windows, figured if she was needed they would come for her, and threw the sheets over her head before falling back into a deep slumber—no will to be conscious.

It was late in the day when a house elf came into the room. "Mrs. Granger should be awake. She must wash and eat and make herself presentable for the Dark Lord tonight," the feeble elf explained, setting down a tray of food.

Hermione groaned, sitting up and running a hand through her hair. She winced slightly, sore as she rose but quickly ignored the ache within her, knowing it was nothing compared to what was to come.

She got up, fingering the sandwich with disinterest. "If I show up like this, will he lose interest?" she asked snidely with a bitter edge. "Will he turn me away?"

The house elf merely gawked at her, unsure of how to respond.

"Probably not," it squeaked quietly, tossing something on Hermione's bed.

"The master asks you wear that and be ready by dinner," its small voice asserted fearfully before leaving the room quickly in discomfort.

Hermione shut the door tightly behind the house elf, before turning and grabbing the material curiously.

She gulped. Her heart beat frantically as she gazed at the material carelessly thrown before her.

Hermione picked up the flimsy material, swallowing hard as she tried to steady her breath. She stared at it skeptically. Foreign. Degrading.

She was not putting that on. Like hell she was going to dress like a prostitute for that bastard. Lingerie suggested consent and excitement. There was nothing about the prospect of sharing the Dark Lord's bed that excited or appealed to her.

Hermione balled the material in her hands, tossing it as far as its lightweight would carry, and began pacing frantically. The nerve.

She cringed, walking towards the large window. She rested her head against it gently, folding her arms protectively across her chest. The cool sensation soothed her skin as she took a long steady breath. At last, she pulled away to glance at a cluster of distant trees with purpose, her mind reeling.

The room was still until a long while later when she turned towards a soft knock at the door . Hermione stared numbly, having lost track of her thoughts.

Malfoy.

Not surprised or interested, she turned from him, fixating again on the window.

"How are you feeling?" He asked softly as he crossed the room.

She shrugged, unsure herself.

He moved closer still, cautiously. She could see him glancing around the room, and then back at her from the corner of her eye.

"Why are you not dressed?" He asked shortly. "Dinner is in less than an hour."

She stiffened, turning on him again. Hermione blinked, staring at Malfoy with a mixture of confusion and desperation.

"H-He's not going to make me wear that to dinner?" She stumbled, her heart racing. "In front of everyone…"

Malfoy was quiet for a moment, his posture rigid.

"Granger," he paused, his voice tight. "I don't think you comprehend what the term pleasure slave means exactly," he asserted calmly, his gaze never wavering. "You. Are. His. Whore." He continued, his voice firm, jaw tight. "And not only are you his whore, you are the whore of every other man in this building at his discretion," he persisted. "If he wants to dress you like a slut for the pleasure of his company, if only to heighten the anticipation for when he retires to his room with you on his arm, then he will damn well do it. If he wants to bend you over the god damn table half way through the meal and fuck you, he will," his tone was harsh, brisk. "If he wants to kill you, he will." Malfoy hesitated, calculating her response. "Start to understand this," he added in a gentler tone.

Hermione quivered, not only at his words but his tone.

Malfoy moved to gather the discarded garments. The softness he'd entered the room with moments before had dissipated.

He tossed them at her quickly. "Put these on," he shook his head. "Before he kills us both," he ordered. "And brush your hair; I'll be waiting in the hall. Ten minutes." She could feel his temper dispersing as he exited the room, if only slightly.

Hermione bit her lip hard, running the material between her fingers before reluctantly undressing. Quickly realizing just how much the clothing revealed, she moved to the bathroom to wash up and shave. She brushed and teased her hair quickly with little care. She then pulled on the black skimpy material, adjusting and tugging it endlessly before realizing it would not stretch or cover one more inch of her body.

She fearfully glanced at herself in the mirror, gulping at the sight. The panties, which weren't exactly see through, but not exactly opaque, barely covered the bare essentials.

The shirt was unique. The top of it covered her breasts, pushing them up firmly and making it appear as though she had more cleavage than she ever thought possible. There was a thin layer of material hanging from the bottom of her breasts, over her stomach to her panty line, but it was mesh and mostly see-through. She could faintly see the few bruises that remained, as well as her ever present scar, but did not allow her gaze to linger there. The entire ensemble covered little more than the necessities and she felt entirely sick and self-conscious.

Humiliating.

She felt her cheeks growing hot. Hermione Granger had never considered herself sexy, or any stretch of desirable. She was barely comfortable with her body herself, and could hardly stomach sharing it with others.

She suppressed every thought that told her she looked stunning, that with a little dark make up around her eyes she would look like a temptress of unfathomable temptation. She ignored these thoughts because they terrified her, and desirable was the last thing she wanted to appear as right now.

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest tightly, moving her hair over her shoulder to cover some of her new found cleavage. She clasped her hands together tightly, realizing they were shaking of their own accord.

"Granger!" Malfoy hollered impatiently from outside the door. "Let's go."

She balled her fists, taking a deep breath before moving towards the door. She rested her hand on the handle for a long moment before opening the door slowly and stepping into the hallway, closing it tightly behind her.

Hermione refused to meet Malfoy's gaze or so much as look in his direction. She kept her arms crossed tightly, looking down as she waited for him to start walking. Her cheeks burned red, she could feel their warmth. Her hands shook, she clasped them harder. Her breath was shaky.

She didn't understand it herself. She'd been naked in front of all of these men before. But something about sexualizing her, turning her into an object of desire left Hermione physically ill and mortified. She felt dirty. Shameful.

When Malfoy made no move towards the dinner hall, she was annoyed to have to finally glance up and meet his gaze.

He glimpsed down at her, expressionless as always. His posture was stiff. His eyes betrayed nothing the way they so often did. His eyes wondered her entire body, before meeting her shifting gaze once more.

"Bloody hell," he mumbled under his breath as he took in the sight of her.

She bit her lip to suppress a whimper, unsure whether Draco's scrutiny had been positive or negative. She was certain he thought she looked like a fool. She could handle anyone's scrutiny but his.

"You're going to have to be brave again, tonight, Granger," he finally said, his tone so much softer than she had been expecting, so much less judgmental.

She picked a spot on the carpet and concentrated on it, her hair falling in her face.

"I think I'm all out of brave."

"Not even close," Malfoy spoke with absolution. "You need to be just as strong as before. Even stronger if you can manage."

"I cannot manage that. I've given it everything I have, and still always end up begging him to stop," She whispered.

Malfoy was quiet for a long moment. "And he's not used to waiting that long for the begging to begin. He is used to seconds, never minutes, never a half an hour. You possess such a challenge to him, and it drives him mad."

Hermione pondered this, unsure how to respond, so she didn't.

At last he reached forward, cupping her jaw and forcing her to glance up at him.

"Granger," he spoke passionately. "Listen to me," he begged. "Look at me," he waited. His eyes danced across her face, like he was soaking her in. She resisted the urge to look away.

"You know the kind of man he is," Malfoy spoke darkly. "You know as well as any of us what he is capable of," he shifted on his feet, crossing his arms tightly across his chest as he watched her. "The screams I've heard erupt from his bedroom…they're unlike anything I've ever heard. He gets off on pain, control and humiliation. Without such sadism he cannot find pleasure," he warned passionately.

She gawked at him, trembling.

"Granger, I've dragged bodies from his bed. I don't care how hard it is, do what he wants," he warned. "Just do it."

Hermione said nothing, merely stared at him, her eyes watering.

In a desperate gesture even she did not understand, she lunged forward, gripping his shirt tightly between her fists with all her strength as she stared up at him with a quivering lip. "Malfoy, please," she pleaded urgently, her voice cracking.

He tensed, pushing from her but she held on.

His eyebrows creased as his gaze lingered on her hand, where it clutched his chest furiously. At last he reached forward, gripping her wrist tightly and pulling her from him. One of his hands found her hip as he shoved her backwards gently, his fingers caressing the bare skin where the mesh material had risen up.

"Granger," he warned firmly, stepping from her.

He turned abruptly, making his way down the hall, expecting her to follow.

She stood frozen in place for a long moment, petrified. At last Malfoy shot her an impatient glance over his shoulder and she obliged, pulling her arms tighter across her torso as she allowed him to lead her to his master's ruthless hands.

* * *

><p>When the entered the dining hall, Hermione hid behind Malfoy as best she could. She held her head as high as possible, but truthfully she had never felt so degraded, not even when he'd had her spread out on a table bare to them all.<p>

There was a murmur if hisses throughout the room as Draco took his seat without so much as glancing in her direction.

"Ahh," Voldemort exclaimed as he stood, moving her chair out for her in some mock gesture of respect. She glared, taking her seat next to him and crossing her arms across her chest again.

"I hope you like your present," he cooed, gesturing towards her, eyeing her newfound cleavage in a way that made her stomach turn. He leaned towards her, inching closer to whisper in her ear. "I find it quite appealing," he breathed.

Hermione shivered as he took his seat beside her, eyeing her as he did so.

"Fuck the mashed potatoes," hollered a death eater as they all took their seats at the large table. "I know what I want for dinner."

Voldemort hissed, his gaze leaving hers to linger on the man who had spoken. "Tonight she is mine," he seethed in annoyance. "You can look but you cannot touch," Voldemort insisted, before gesturing for the men to eat.

Hermione shot Malfoy a sidelong glance, but he would not so much as turn his head. She sighed internally, placing some food on her plate in the way she was expected to, before moving it around, taking small unappetizing bites.

She could hardly stomach anything at meals like this, and found the only time she really ate was when food was brought to her room. Even then she knew she ate far less than she should. But how could she when this place left her constantly sick to her stomach?

Hermione could feel the Dark Lord inching closer to her and stiffened at the feeling. "I can already snap you like a twig," he whispered lowly for only her to hear. "Best get some meat on your bones if you're going to roll with me," he taunted. She resisted the urge to gag.

She shoveled a forkful of salad into her mouth in hopes of keeping him away from her.

The meal passed slowly, yet far too quickly. Each moment Hermione felt sicker and sicker with the anticipation of what was to come. The Dark Lord made small talk with his followers, asking them the details of the day's business, and at last it was over.

He did not dismiss them however, the way he'd done every time prior, before finally leaving himself. Instead, he stood, gripping the back of her chair.

"Get up," he commanded, pulling it back so she could stand. She hesitated, before obliging.

He rested a hand on her lower back. It caressed her skin lightly as he ushered her forward, possessively leading her towards the door. When she faltered, he took a more insistent approach and clutched her wrist tightly, tugging her along after him.

"We'll try to keep it down," he hollered over his shoulder as he pulled her out of the room after him. There were cackling and murmurs, but she could barely hear any of it over the sound of her own heartbeat.

* * *

><p>The Dark Lord's bed chamber was not exactly what Hermione had expected it would be, though she didn't know exactly what it was she had been expecting. Skulls framing the bed posts? Cages hanging from the ceiling?<p>

It was shockingly normal, and predictably dark. The walls were a color that was impossible to distinguish in the dim light, but something close to grey or black. The room contained a large four post bed, chains fastened to each post, black sheets, a sofa, bookshelf, adjoining bathroom, and little else. There were the toys in the corner, whips, chains, and other devices, but those she had expected.

It was the bedroom of a man with sadistic tendencies, not the bedroom of a ruthless king of terror.

Hermione was so engrossed in her surroundings that she hardly noticed when Voldemort walked up behind her and began undressing. "Unimpressed?" He mused, stepping around her as he shed his cloak, reveling the tight t-shirt and jeans that hugged his muscular frame.

Away from his followers, from the position of their leader, the constant tension that surrounded him dissipated as he held himself in a more relaxed manner, his eyes curious as he watched her.

She shrugged. "I suppose I did not know what to expect," she admitted quietly as she tried to keep her voice from shaking. He nodded, satisfied with this answer as he pulled his shirt over his head, exposing his muscular torso once more. It still baffled her how much he'd grown to look like a man.

She did not let her gaze linger as it met his cool eyes once more. "Well then I hope I do not disappoint," he smirked, reaching for his belt as he tugged his pants off. Hermione swallowed hard.

He removed the rest of his clothing and she backed away from him without even realizing she was doing it. She trembled as she took in his nude form, watching her with a calculating gaze. He had no shame as he came closer to her still.

She wondered if he'd locked the door, if he'd thought he needed to. She wondered how fast he really was, and remembered the lightning speed with which she'd seen him move. She decided that making a run for it would not help.

"Quivering does not become you, Hermione Granger," he asserted, surprising her by moving towards the mattress of his bed. "You're a brave women. Strong. It's the one thing I've always admired about you mudblood," he hissed, lying back on his bed as he watched her. Voldemort propped his hands behind his head like a pillow as he studied her movements, completely bare before her and seemingly unfazed by the fact.

She was frozen, unable to do anything but stand a safe distance from him and gawk. "It is a look of defiance that belongs on your face, and I have often seen it," he continued, analyzing her in a way that infuriated and terrified her at the same time.

"You are unlike any woman I've ever taken to my bead, Granger. Which is why I will treat you as such," he asserted, an air of command still flowing from him even through the circumstances. "Come closer," he ordered.

She stepped forward a few feet regrettably. "Sure," he paused. "I could torture you, whip you, beat you, have you groveling at my knees," he hissed with pleasure. "But it's all been done before. We'll save all that for another night," he promised, his eyes shimmering at the prospect as she watched him, crossing her arms closer still.

"You are a woman of strength," he continued. "Which is why you will fuck me as such," he sat up a bit so he could see her better, see the way she shivered at his words. "No screaming, crying, begging, pleading or kicking. I will not ravish you," his eyes narrowed. "You, my lovely, will come to me. You will climb on my cock and fuck me without the necessity for compulsion or binding spells, without these chains and ropes you see around you. For you see, as such a strong and determined young woman, wouldn't that be the ultimate victory…the ultimate sacrifice?" he paused, a devious look adorning his features. "Your ultimate surrender to my command…" he continued, his voice growing hoarse. "Willingly fucking me," he finished, eyeing her lustfully.

She stared at him in horror for a long moment, gripping one of the bedposts as she steadied herself. At last she found her voice. "And if I refuse?" She asked through a shaky voice.

He smirked. "Then I have never not enjoyed beating, torturing and fucking my whores like dogs," he responded, pausing between each word in emphasis. "I merely thought I'd give you the option. I rather assumed you didn't enjoy excruciating pain, perhaps I was wrong about you after all," he challenged.

"I think you're incorrect about which option would be more painful to endure," she responded shortly, her breath quick.

"Sweetheart," he leered, sitting up slowly to face her. "Have you forgotten who I am?" He mused. "They don't call me the dark lord because I am merciful. People aren't fearful of speaking my very name because I am a gentle man. If I go sharpen my toys, I cannot even promise you that you will leave this room alive," Hermione saw his cock visibly twitch at the mention of it. His member had hardened significantly throughout the duration of their conversation.

"I leave you this choice," he repeated. "Climb on my fucking cock and ride me, or hand me my whip," his eyes narrowed and she panicked at the impossible choice.

Hermione did nothing, merely stared at him in desperation and horror.

At last he grumbled in frustration, sliding to the edge of the bed and reaching for her. Voldemort grabbed her wrist tightly, tugging her into him as he gazed up at her with malice beyond her comprehension. One hand tightened its death grip on her arm with little effort while the other reached up and struck her hard across the face.

She cried out in shock and pain. Before the sting fully subsided she felt another blow to the opposite side of her face, this one closed fist and entirely more painful. Another and another, his fist collided with her flesh over and over, the sting of the previous blow leading into the next one until he broke the skin of her cheek and she felt blood trickle from it. He stopped.

Her eyes watered immensely. When she thought he was finished, he fisted her breasts roughly, tugging the material that framed them down just low enough to expose her to him. He grabbed one of her nipples between his fingers and pulled mercilessly until she thought he would tear her skin right from her body. He did the same to the other.

She hollered, trying to pull from him but his grip was too strong.

He was holding her still, her entire body still by merely one hand., such was his strength He then pulled his hand back, slapping her across the chest with brute strength again and again until her skin was raw. She whimpered and he reached forward, sucking on the skin slowly, soothing it unexpectedly, before assaulting it once more with his open palm. The friction of her damp skin created an even more painful sensation than before and each time his skin met hers she screamed even louder.

Silent tears had fallen from her eyes and she could not stop them. At last he stopped, pulling away as he gazed up at her, a hard expression on his face.

"On a scale from one to ten, that was a one," he narrowed his eyes, reaching up to fist her hair tightly before letting go. He took in her disheveled appearance as his hand wandered towards his groin. His erection was now raging. "Decide," he commanded harshly. "Now."

Hermione's breaths came in spurts; she reached up to wipe the blood from her face as she stared at him with contempt. She watched the way the dark lord grasped himself, stroking slowly as he waited. At last, seeing the answer in her eyes he smiled cruelly before leaning back down on the mattress, again propping a hand behind his head in anticipation.

"I don't have all night," he snapped. "Climb on."

Hermione felt sick to her stomach as she locked her jaw and put on her bravest face. She silenced her sobs as she climbed on the bed near him, shaking with each movement.

She kneeled beside him, looking down at him with as much hatred as she could muster. "You're a sick bastard," she spat, unable to humiliate and degrade herself in silence. She needed the last word.

Hermione expected another beating, but his expression switched to one of satisfaction. "Glad you've noticed," he nodded, looking at her pointedly.

"Take off the panties first," he ordered. She did as he asked, blushing self-consciously with the movement as she averted his watchful gaze.

He patted the bed beside his hips mockingly. Her stomach turned. She took a deep breath, inching her way closer before meeting his eyes reluctantly. They were cold and full of triumph and anticipation. Hers, she was sure, were equally as cold.

Hermione took a steady breath before reaching for him with disgust. She trembled, grasping him with repulsion as she inched closer. He growled impatiently and at last she moved, impaling herself slowly, inching onto him until he filled her. She closed her eyes, locking her jaw in discomfort.

She took a deep breath, barely moving. Since he was leaving this up to her she was able to move gently, causing herself little pain despite the soreness from the day before. She was allowed small bits of control and this she found she was grateful for.

He closed his eyes at the sensation, hissing lightly. When he was all the way in, she merely sat there, unable to believe what she was doing, paralyzed in fear. How could she have succumbed to this?

He opened his eyes in agitation after a moment. "Fuck. Me." He growled impatiently.

She reluctantly moved slowly as to not hurt herself. When she had to place a hand on his chest to steady herself in order to continue her movements she cringed. His skin was cool, chilling.

He watched her with satisfaction, his gaze wondering to her breasts, to her hips and back to the repulsion on her face.

Hermione did not cry out, did not whimper, and barely even shed a tear. She stared at him with anger as she moved against him, more determined than she'd ever been.

He reached up, clawing at her, grabbing and fisting her breasts, running his hands along her stomach, her hips, gripping them tightly.

She continued her movements wordlessly, her jaw tight as she gazed at the wall in front of her. Anywhere but his eyes. She moved her hips rhythmically, trying not to think—to feel. The faster he came, the faster it was over.

No such luck.

"Get off," he ordered abruptly. She stared at him blankly. "Now," he roared.

She did as he asked wordlessly. He reached up, fisting her hair tightly and forcing her head down against his groin.

"Suck," he commanded. When she hesitated once more he shoved his length in her mouth before letting go. _Don't think, just do it. _

She could taste herself on him and gagged, which resulted in a throaty moan on his part.

She'd never pleasured a man with her mouth before and could only guess at how to do it correctly. With really no aim to please, she pulled away from him gasping for breath. He gripped her scalp tighter, forcing her back down and she coughed lightly, gagging once more.

"Suck," he repeated. She cringed, wincing as she closed her lips around him, hoping to get the entire ordeal over with. She moved back and forth quickly, but for the most part he pulled her along. After a few minutes he tugged her face up and away from him.

She wiped her mouth, gazing down in disgrace, her hair falling in her face as she waited. She suddenly found herself full of such anger and mortification that she gripped the sheets, balling them between her hands without realizing.

"Get back up here and keep fucking me," he commanded shortly.

She glanced up, her eyes narrow. "Now, you filthy mudblood."

She hatefully repositioned herself and started moving against him with even more determination, her anger becoming part of her movements. Voldemort reached down, cupping her backside tightly as she moved against him.

He smirked, squeezing as he hissed in pleasure.

"Faster," he ordered, watching her. He reached up, his hand trailing from her stomach, over the flimsy material of her shirt to her breasts. She continued her movements, feeling his hand snake higher still to the base of her neck, where it wrapped itself lightly around her flesh.

She gasped in horror, her eyes widening as he squeezed slightly.

She could feel him getting close.

"I'm not going to kill you," he assured her. _Yet,_ she thought.

She stopped momentarily, watching him with caution as his grip on her tightened further.

In one swift shocking moment, he grabbed her, flipping them so he was on top, and at last in control. He'd said he wanted her to fuck him, but in order to get off he had to be the dominant one. He had to be in control to find release.

He grabbed her wrists, pinning them against the mattress above her head. He glared at her as he held her down, stroking her body possessively. A satisfied look crossed his features as he thrust into her as hard and fast as he possibly could.

Hermione winced, withering beneath him silently. He pulled out of her, pushing back in with equal force and she closed her eyes tightly, her breath coming in spurts. He let out an almost animalistic growl and she could tell he was getting close, that is was almost over.

Hermione bit the inside of her cheek as he continued his harsh movements to keep from crying out.

"Turn over," he said abruptly, stopping and moving to flip her. She glared at him.

"I am not an animal," she growled.

He pinned her, flipping her harshly with brute force and shoving her face into the mattress as he pulled her backside up, thrusting into her from behind. "No, you're less than that," he spat, spanking her hard. "Filthy, mudblood."

He moved against her with even more determination, reaching forward and yanking her head back roughly by the hair. She cried out, silent tears leaking from her lids, but she silenced herself quickly. He filled her over and over and she grew sorer and sorer.

Voldemort leaned over her moving to whisper in her ear, his breath on her skin making her cringe. "Does my cock make your little cunt ache, whore?" he seethed. He reached down, slapping the area her between her legs pointedly, she bit her lip harder.

He continued to pound into her so hard she felt like she would split in half. A few moments later, he cupped her jaw firmly, turning it so he could glare at her, so he could watch the pain and discomfort he was causing in her eyes. He gripped her jaw so tightly she feared it would break.

He then slapped her hard and fast across the face; she didn't even see it coming. Her small cry of pain was what finished him. It left him gripping the skin of her hips furiously as he cried out, slamming her against the bed again and again. She collapsed under him when he released her hair, clutching the blankets beneath them in desperation as he finished himself, riding out his orgasm.

She could feel him coming inside of her and the thought made her shake with repulsion. When he was finally finished, he pulled from her, literally tossing her to the side and out of his way. She rolled away from him, breathing heavily as she tried to calm herself.

He shamelessly lay down next to her, running a hand along his shaft once as it grew soft before placing an arm behind his head once more, staring at the ceiling with disinterest.

"Now get out," he said coldly, barely moving as he spoke, coming down from his high.

She gazed at him fearfully, sitting up slowly and attempting to wipe some of the blood and tears from her face.

It only took her a moment to comprehend his words before she scurried off the bed like a mouse released from the jaw of a cat. She only took a moment to grab her panties off the floor and slip them on, before stumbling out the door, shutting it quietly behind her as she tugged her shirt back into place in a way that covered most of the essentials.

Hermione leaned against the wall a moment in shock, breathing deeply as she blinked into nothingness. At last she started moving, fumbling down the hallway. She hugged the wall as she walked, aching, bruised, but more than anything mortified. Hermione had never felt so low, so dirty and worthless in her life.

She only made it a few feet before the tears started; silently falling as she cautiously worked her way through the maze of hallways back towards her room. She felt like at any moment she might break into a million pieces and lay shattered forever on the rich carpeted hallways of Malfoy manor.

Dirty, she felt so dirty. She'd given herself to him. She'd pleasured him, surrendered to him. She'd been weak, and she would never forget this night. She had let him win.

The area grew familiar as she continued to move and she knew her room was close. The thought of spending another night curled alone in that unfamiliar room pondering her fate left her stomach reeling.

She paused. What had Malfoy said? The next room over on the left. Without even thinking she started for it, wincing and suppressing full out sobs.

When she reached his door, she hovered outside of it for a moment before at last knocking. Hermione was barely thinking, barely able to breathe as she stood waiting for him to answer. She attempted to wipe fresh tears away again as she pulled on her clothing, trying to cover what she knew it would never cover. She wondered if Malfoy was asleep, if he'd even heard her, if he'd answer the door in the middle of the night regardless.

She turned, about to walk away, not entirely sure what she was doing here anyways, when the door slowly opened revealing a confused and disheveled Malfoy.

Her eyes widened at the sight of him, his chest bare in only a pair of sweatpants he'd presumably been using as pajamas. It was toned, hard to tear her eyes from, but she realized she was gawking and remembered her current state quickly when he cleared his throat uncomfortably. Hermione blushed, forgetting herself.

"Granger," he breathed quietly, looking her over. "You're alive," he spoke softly, gratefully, with a soft sigh of relief. "You survived."

"I wish I hadn't," she choked, the damn breaking as silent tears fell from her lids. He winced, his brows creasing, his body tensing. "Can I come in?" She asked hesitantly.

He stiffened, before nodding and moving aside. She let herself in, moving slowly and bracing the door frame for help. The dark lord hadn't full out beaten her, but he'd done enough.

Malfoy turned on his bedside lamp, illuminating the room slightly before turning back towards her and watching her struggle. He groaned quietly. "You're hurt," he said softly.

She said nothing, just merely moved to sit on the edge of his bed, not caring how inappropriate it was. She needed to sit. Hermione pulled her knees to her chest, curling up as she stared at him.

Malfoy glanced down at her from where he stood awkwardly in front of her.

"D-Do you have anything I can wear?" She asked, glancing up at him from behind her lashes. He nodded, moving to his drawer to grab another large t-shirt, this one grey. He bunched it in his hand, offering it to her.

"Is this okay?"

She nodded. "Thank you." She sighed gratefully, pulling it over her undergarments. She breathed deeply, tugging it down and reveling in the comfort.

Vanilla.

She looked at him awkwardly before patting the bed next to her. "Sit," she said softly. He hesitated but moved to sit a safe distance from her, facing her.

"You must have done something right," he noted softly, cupping her jaw gently. His thumb brushed over one of the angry bruises the dark lord had left on her skin. "I've seen so much worse than this."

She winced at his words. "I did nothing right," she spat angrily at herself. "I was a coward."

He shook his head. "You survived a night in his bed. That's a feat for no coward, Granger."

"I gave up," she whispered, tears falling once more. "I let him—I…willingly…" she couldn't say it.

"You did what you had to do," he said fiercely, no judgment in his eyes.

She shook her head. "I-I agreed to do it so he would stop hurting me, so he would stop…and then he took over and hurt me anyways. He did it anyways. H-He—no whips, none of that, but still," she sobbed lightly, finally letting it out. "Still he hurt me," she choked, blinking hard as she fought the tears. "He still called me filthy...that's all I am, all I feel..."

Hermione was aware of the incoherency of her words but she couldn't clear her head enough to make them come out right. Malfoy was rigid as he listened to her in silence.

"His skin is so cold, you know? Did you know that?" She asked through a sob.

He nodded. "I did."

"I'm so dirty," she repeated, curling in on herself as her sobs grew uncontrollable. "I can't do this every night. I can't."

"Granger," Malfoy said softly, but with determination. "You are not dirty. You are not weak."

"I am. I'm what he's made me," she choked, her voice cracking as he held his gaze fiercely. "I'm his slut," she hollered. "A whore."

Malfoy's jaw locked as he took a long steady breath, his eyes raging. He shifted closer to her, grabbing her shoulder softly.

"You are not a slut, Granger," he spoke, his voice matching hers. "Not even fucking close," he paused. "I told you to do what you needed to in order to get out of there in one piece, and you did. No one is judging you for what happened tonight. Whatever you think you did that brings you such shame, I know better than anyone that he left you no other choice," his voice was determined.

Hermione swatted at her tears, and without thinking, leaned forward resting her head on his chest as she tried to catch her breath, noticing their close proximity for the first time.

He jumped slightly but did not pull away. "I can't do this anymore," she whispered, her breath tickling the smooth skin of his torso.

He hesitantly reached up, placing a comforting hand on the back of her head, the other on her shoulder. "If anyone can survive this, it's you."

"Survive what," she pulled away sadly. "And for how long, until he kills me?" Her voice was terrified for the first time, truly petrified as her heart seared with horror. "I'm never leaving this place, Malfoy. This is my life until he ends it. I have no other options and you have no idea how scared I am. I'm a dead woman walking."

Malfoy swallowed hard, his expression tormented. "If he's pleased with you, which he seems to be, it could be years before…"

"Years of rape, humiliation and torture!" She yelled. He winced once more. There was nothing he could do. They both knew this.

A heavy silence lingered between them.

"I-I know it's a lot to ask, and that it's crossing about a hundred lines and probably the last thing you ever want to do, but," she paused. "Could you just hold me," she begged. She'd had no human contact, no one to comfort her, no one to tell her it was going to be okay. No one but him.

"Granger," he breathed, hesitating.

"Please," she begged, swatting at tears.

In one swift movement he grabbed her, wrapping his arms around her as she curled into his chest, sobbing lightly.

"I'm sorry," he breathed.

She pulled him closer still and they stayed like that for a long time. He held her until her tears dried up and she stopped shaking, until her breath stopped coming in spurts and she was able to relax.

Her eyes began to droop from exhaustion and he saw this, watching her lean against him with a sigh, feeling her calm in his arms truly for the first time since she'd come here.

Without thinking, he leaned back against the headboard, tugging her along with him. She lay down, curled into his torso without a word as he resumed holding her and she closed her eyes once more.

She could feel his shirt riding up, revealing the undergarments underneath but was too exhausted to care.

"This doesn't change anything," he spoke softly in her ear as she lay tangled against him, blood and sweat matting her hair and skin.

"I wouldn't expect it to," she admitted, opening her eyes slightly.

"What I mean is….two of his men could grab you in the hallway tomorrow, toss you up against a wall and have their way with you," his tone was dark. "Even if I was standing right there, there's nothing I could do to stop them. Nothing in my power…"

"I know," she cut him off. "I do not expect that of you." She was quiet for a moment. "You've changed though," she added softly.

"How do you mean?" He asked, running a hand through her hair gently, lulling her into relaxation.

"You are different then you used to be, then the man I knew at Hogwarts."

He hesitated. "I've seen things that have changed me, things that cannot be unseen."

"We're at war, we all have," she agreed. "Do not take this the wrong way, but the boy I knew was scared, almost a coward." He stiffened. "The man holding me is brave, and as much as I'd like to deny it, he's put his life in the line for me."

He was quiet, lost in thought, his grip never wavering.

"Why did you come here tonight?" He asked at last.

"I do not know," she admitted. "I couldn't stand the thought of being alone after…."

He sighed, wrapping an arm around her, his biceps bulging. Hermione pretended not to notice, or stare. "You don't have to be."

At some point, she did not know how long after, she fell asleep. She fell into a peaceful slumber in the arms and bed of Draco Malfoy, her one true rival and enemy, and she couldn't remember the last time she'd slept so comfortably.

* * *

><p><strong>still have no idea how long this will be. <strong>

**happy holidays everyone !**

**-meg**


	4. Chapter 4

**Part Four**

"Who's the slut?" Bellatrix demanded as she burst into the dining hall. It had been a week and Voldemort hadn't called on Hermione to her surprise. In fact, he had said little to her since their night together. She suspected he was sated, if only for a time.

Hermione cringed as Bellatrix's wild raven hair flitted about while she bounced wildly to the head of the table, her eyes wide and full of rage.

"Welcome back, Bellatrix," Voldemort said calmly, pushing back from the table as he eyed her steadily. Hermione tensed, and he sensed it, glancing side long at her.

"I trust your time away was rewarding?" He continued. Hermione had overheard that she had been off on some assignment for the dark lord, but the details she was not familiar with.

Bellatrix gasped, ignoring him as she rounded on the table. "Is that the mudblood?" She cackled in surprise, her irate glare narrowing in on Hermione. She surpassed the Dark Lord and came right up to her as Hermione shrunk back in her chair.

"Remember me?" She hissed with pleasure, grabbing Hermione's arm tightly where the scar she left still remained and held it out. "Oh I'm sure you do." She dug her fingers into the old wound as she smiled deviously. Hermione shot Malfoy a panicked look but saw the futile expression on his face.

"Enough," Voldemort scolded with just enough force for Bellatrix to release her death grip on Hermione's arm.

"Are you fucking her?" She spat, rounding on Voldemort with an expression of curiosity and dismay.

"Bella," he warned carefully.

"She probably has a disease," Bellatrix hollered, shooting Hermione a filthy look over her shoulder. "You fuck me," she said possessively, climbing shamelessly onto the dark lord's lap, straddling him in an incredibly bold way as she stroked his chest sensually.

His hands found her lower hips like he expected nothing less. "You know very well you're not the only one I fuck. I've had many slaves since you came crawling into my life," he mused.

"Never a mudblood," she spat distastefully. "Have you no standards anymore?" She seethed, getting in his face. "No honor?"

Suddenly, he grabbed her throat tightly, pushing her back slightly as his grip tightened on her. "You don't tell me who to fuck," he growled. Bellatrix's eyes grew wide.

He released his grip substantially and she panted, a satisfied and lustrous look crossing her features. Something about the way she stared at him then told Hermione the chokehold had not had the desired effect. Bellatrix climbed further into Voldemort's lap, stroking his chin with her long sharp nails.

"If you want to continue fucking me, you'll keep your cock out of that piece of filth," she challenged. He smiled slyly, gripping her tangled curly hair tightly between his long fingers and tugging back on it roughly, running his other hand from her neck slowly down the crevice between her breasts.

"And since when, my dear, do you have any say in whether or not I fuck you?" He breathed against her skin. Hermione shuffled as far from the two of them as she could get, growing more uncomfortable by the minute. The expression of the rest of the death eaters was not as appalled as she would have expected. Something told her they'd seen all this before, and worse. Hermione couldn't help her embarrassment at being the topic of their argument, but she had the inkling they would be fighting about something regardless. Something about the crazed raw passion they exuded as a couple gave them away.

As if to prove his point, Voldemort tugged at the front of her black lace dress, exposing her breasts with no shame and clawed at one menacingly. Bellatrix shivered in what had to be pleasure, her neck still craned back tightly.

Voldemort released her swiftly, both of his hands slipping beneath her dress and cupping her backside roughly as he leaned his head against her breasts, inhaling. Bellatrix rocked against him, a sick smile twisted on her face as she urged him forward.

"I've missed you my lord," she admitted, with no regard for the rest of the room. "But most of all, I've missed this," she visibly gripped the bulge beneath her hips.

His breath noticeably hitched as he placed a shockingly careful kiss to her collar bone before violently shoving her off the chair and onto the ground. She flew a few feet, her dress bunched around her, breasts exposed, and disheveled as ever; but her smile never wavered. She bit her lip running her hands along her body as she glanced up at him from her place on the cold marble floor.

His eyes darkened. "Wait for me in my bed chamber," was all he said, as he watched her smirk, turning over and crawling seductively away from him before standing and following her orders. Hermione speculated at the dynamic of their relationship in wonder as she picked her fork back up, pushing her food around, far too dumbfounded to even pretend to still be eating the way everyone else still seemed to be.

Hermione watched the dark lord from the corner of her eye as he took a few more bites of his food, downed a full cup of wine, and stood abruptly. "When you're finished you're all dismissed," he hollered as he made hastily for the door, slamming the full double doors behind him and leaving the room echoing in stunned silence. Many of the eyes of the room then fell on her, and she was grateful she was dressed in one of the dresses she'd been provided and not the provocative lingerie of a few nights prior.

She noticed not for the first time that she was the only slave allowed to accompany the men to dinner, and wondered why. Voldemort had said himself that he had many. She made a note to ask Malfoy about it.

"I'd say it's about time for dessert," one of the death eaters hollered pointedly in her direction. Her breath caught as she counted the hungry gazes aimed at her.

"Did the dark lord say you could touch her?" Malfoy's stern and warning tone carried across the table.

"Oh, whose stick is up your ass Malfoy? He'll be none the wiser," one argued dismissively.

"You don't get a say, you've already had her. The rest of us are curious," called another.

"We've tried the rest of them, let us at the new meat," came a third voice.

Hermione's terrified gaze shot to Malfoy's locked jaw as he sat up straighter in his chair. She could see his mind reeling.

"Do none of you remember the Dark Lord's words?" Hermione did. They echoed in her mind_. She is mine._ _You can look but you cannot touch._

"She's under my charge," Malfoy argued fervently. "I'll not be the cause of the dark lord's wrath. His words were clear. Until he says otherwise, no one touches the girl."

She watched him, the power he commanded. He was just a boy, a boy in the way she still felt like a girl, but in that moment his authority could not be contested, not even by the men in the room twice his age and rank, his logic cunning and sharp. She admired him.

There were many low grumbles off annoyed agreement throughout the room and Hermione had never felt more relieved.

"I'll send for another girl if you're all so hungry for flesh," Lucius Malfoy spoke up from only a few seats away, his tired gaze looking to calm the hunger of the room as he shot his son a careful glance.

This seemed to satisfy the room and Lucius stood abruptly to follow through on his promise. Hermione curled in on herself in her chair, wondering at the animals before her, the lack of compassion and lustful appetites of each of them. She questioned how so many of them could exist, how someone could live and thrive amongst such darkness.

It was a few minutes later when Lucius reentered the room, a slender blonde on his arm, clearly as frightened as Hermione had been. Hermione found her to be much prettier than herself, and again wondered why she was not in Hermione's place. There was something vastly different about her though, something that separated her from Hermione. There was a resolve in her. As much as it was clear that this was the last place she wanted to be, she resigned to it; and as Lucius pushed her forward and the men began to holler lewd remarks she obediently stepped forward, reluctantly allowing one of them to take hold of her as the others inched closer.

Hermione found it curious to watch the animals interact when their ring master was not presence.

One of the death eaters clawed at the girl's dress, tearing it from her viciously while another tugged at her hair. Three of the closest men moved to undo their pants and she saw the young girl close her eyes. Hermione wondered if this would one day be her, knew the truth of her thoughts. The emptiness of the girl's eyes haunted her.

She wasn't aware that she was shaking until Malfoy put a firm hand on her shoulder. "Come on," he encouraged, motioning for her to stand. "You don't need to see this."

She glanced around cautiously but all the other men were preoccupied. And so she stood, allowing Malfoy to lead her watchfully and protectively towards the door.

They had almost left the room when Hermione heard the sound of flesh meeting flesh and a loud cry of pain escape the woman. She reeled around, glancing in horror as one man pulled her against him, thrusting into her from behind, as another beat her as a third filled her mouth, the girl visibly gagging against him. Many others clawed at her now naked form, assaulting the fragile girl on all fronts as tears ran silently from her wincing closed lids. "Don't look," Malfoy said, turning her quickly.

Hermione cringed; aching for the woman as she unconsciously stepped towards her. "Stop it. Stop them," she pleaded.

He winced, catching her gaze. "I can't." He led her from the room and shut the doors tightly behind them. Hermione felt ill as she followed him back to her room, wondering if the dining hall and a number of bedrooms were the only places she was destined to see for the remainder of her life.

She numbly entered the room and he followed, shutting the door behind them with a deep sigh. "I'm sorry you had to see that." His jaw was tight as he gazed behind her out the window.

Hermione said nothing, taking a seat in one of the chairs facing the window. Malfoy took the other without a word.

"Malfoy," she said.

"You can call me Draco," he said distantly. "If you want," he added. "When you say Malfoy, it reminds me so much of the way you would say it at Hogwarts, with distain," he paused. "Everyone calls me Draco around here for the most part anyways."

She blinked at him. "Oh." She had no preference either way, but supposed Draco had a sweeter ring to it than the formality of Malfoy, the word that tied him to the darkness of his family.

He finally glanced at her sidelong, catching her gaze. "I didn't mean to interrupt," he encouraged. His face was strangely emotionless.

"Why am I the only one that shares the Dark Lord's table with all of you," she asked carefully.

He shrugged. "You're special."

After a moment of confused silence on Hermione's part and contemplation on Draco's he continued. "You fascinate him. You were in league with his mortal enemy, and you're his pet. He'll tire of you like all the rest."

She thought of the blond. Had he tired of her? How many like us were there? Who were these girls? All prisoners of the war?

"How is he getting away with this?" Hermione breathed. She knew how. He'd won. He ruled them all now.

A terrified expression crossed Malfoy's features as his hand came thoughtfully to his mouth. "A few weeks back, he toyed with the notion of taking over the muggle population. Said something like why not rule them all," his voice was haunted. "What a hopelessly terrifying concept."

In that moment it was never clearer to Hermione. His devotion to the dark lord was a means of survival, his loyalty a necessity. He was not made of the stuff of a death eater—not of the same rank as the men and world he immersed himself in. For Hermione, such a choice had always been easy. She would never chose darkness even at the cost of her life. Draco had been born in and raised in darkness, and had rarely seen the light. Would she not do anything to make her parents proud? To keep her family together. Once she would have.

Hermione remembered the tough choice she made erasing her parent's memory when she decided to fight with Harry against the evil she now lived with. She knew Draco was as strong as she had been, at least now he was. He just needed that push, and perhaps something else to live for.

"I managed to survive months on my own," Hermione said with conviction. "With your knowledge and resources you could escape all this."

Draco started, glancing around fearfully before shooting her a hard warning look. "Will you shut up, Granger? I am happy to serve the dark lord."

"You look it."

He growled at her, standing quickly, his gaze wondering panicked towards the door. "You will be the death of me, Hermione Granger," he snapped in frustration, leaving quickly and slamming the door behind him.

Hermione instantly felt a pang of guilt. She'd nearly cost him his life countless times, mostly because he was trying to do nothing but help her.

She stood, following his path and opening the door, hoping to catch him with a half sincere apology. Instead, she shrunk back against the wall when he was nowhere to be found, and none other than Bellatrix was muddling down the hallway humming absentmindedly.

Hermione turned and gripped the door knob but was not quick enough. "There she is," Bellatrix hummed pleasantly, a satisfied look in her eye as she approached. Hermione expected her time with the dark lord had sated her hunger and malevolence, but knew such a creature could never truly be satisfied.

She inhaled quickly, trying again for the door knob, knowing it would be futile as she caught sight of Bellatrix's wand tucked neatly into her clothing. Hermione ached for her own wand at times like these. She almost forgot the way it felt between her fingers—the way the smooth oak had once been like an extension of her skin.

"I've been meaning to have a chat with you." She narrowed in, coming closer to Hermione than she had ever been comfortable with. "Remind you of your place," she crooned.

Hermione wished she could sink into the wall, meeting her gaze as steadily as she could manage. "I don't think I need to explain to you that the dark lord is mine," she asserted, jutting her chin forward as she eyed Hermione up in a gesture that made little sense as she often did, her unruly hair bouncing with each movement.

"Believe me, you can have him. The less often I see him the better," Hermione countered with as much force as she could muster.

Bellatrix cackled softly in her face, her slightly foul breath making Hermione cringe as she prayed she would move away. "He's taken an interest in you," she said. "You must be quite the slut for him," she paused. "Let me be clear in saying," Bellatrix leaned in. "Stop. It."

"I've done nothing to try to please him, believe me."

Bellatrix gripped Hermione's cheeks harshly between her hand and squeezed painfully hard. "I just thought I would make myself rather clear. Soon enough he'll be done with you anyways. I cannot believe he stooped so low in the first place," she eyed Hermione disdainfully again.

"No one fucks like I do," she added as an afterthought. "He always seems to remember that in the end." Bellatrix's gaze fell to the scar she had left on Hermione's arm what felt like a lifetime ago. She gripped it hard, pinning her forearm to the wall.

"Just in case you needed a reminder as to where you stand, and who is really in charge around here," she sneered, flicking her wand. Hermione found herself pinned to the wall with unbreakable force "I'm his only lover."

"No one is contesting that," she yelled desperately, panic rising within her as she found herself unable to move.

Bellatrix merely smiled sadistically, pressing her wand against Hermione's arm forcefully. She barely registered the movement before her skin was searing with pain. She withered and cried out. Hermione's flesh felt like it was being seared with fire and sliced with the sharpest of knives all at once. Tears leaked from her eyes as she gritted her teeth in an effort to stop from passing out. The pain was familiar, she'd felt it before. And when Bellatrix finally released her, striding down the hallway with an amused laugh, Hermione fell to the ground, clutching her limb in pain where her scar had been altered and added to. Next to the previous reminder of her status was a new one. The length of her lower arm now read clearly in crimson:

MUDBLOOD WHORE


	5. Chapter 5

**Part Five**

The wound Bellatrix has inflicted bled, more than Hermione would have expected. She shook from the pain as she stumbled back to her room and bound it tightly with a piece of cloth from one of Draco's shirts. She felt momentarily bad about how many of them she'd been stocking up, and now ruining without a thought. She wondered briefly if he was still angry with her as she tied the material tightly against her, realizing it was the best she could do.

At least the makeshift bandage hid the cruel words for the time being, not only from others but from herself. She forced herself not to think about the scars that would mar her for life, about what other vengeance Bellatrix might want, about the screaming girl in the great room being clawed at helplessly by death eaters.

Hermione fell back against the bed with a sigh, pulling another one of Draco's shirts on as she stared aimlessly out the window, watching the wind blow a tree lightly in the distance. She sat for a long time, unmoving and unthinking, the ache in her arm dulling slightly. There was no sign of Draco. She assumed he was still upset with her. Perhaps his anger was justified. She pondered the thought in silence, her mind wondering to a thousand other things.

Hermione had thought, hoped rather, that Bellatrix's return would have sated the Dark Lord's hunger for the night, but she was wrong.

Hours later, a house elf stopped by as darkness fell outside the manor walls and left a simple bra and panty set of red lingerie on her bed. "The Dark Lord requests your presence," it mumbled, before leaving silently.

Hermione wondered if she might throw up. She stood, gripping the bed post hard for a long moment as she winced. At last she dressed, now used to finding herself so exposed and admitted sadly that it no longer bothered her so much. Perhaps desensitized, perhaps realizing she had larger problems, she glanced at herself neutrally for only a moment before tearing off the material from her arm. The scar was jagged and red with agitation. She worried briefly of infection, sighed and turned her arm against her body, hiding the degradation the best she could.

* * *

><p>Voldemort answered the door in nothing but a pair of jeans. Hermione glanced around the room but saw no sign of Bellatrix. She exhaled in slight relief, something she never would have anticipated upon entering his bed chamber. He nodded, opening the door wider and gesturing for her to come in. Hermione stepped inside as he watched her curiously.<p>

She said nothing. He moved to pour himself a drink of dark amber liquid, his eyes following her over the glass as he took a long sip. Draco had not been there to strengthen her tonight before the encounter, and she felt the effects of it weighting heavily on her, felt her complete resolve to her fate.

"Would you like a drink, Mudblood?" He asked with amusement.

"Yes." She found herself saying. Numbness in any sense was a welcomed thought.

His gaze was curious but he said nothing, pouring her a glass and handing it to her. She took it, not having really expected him to follow through. She took a very long drink, nearly finishing the glass as the liquid burned its way down her throat. She could see Voldemort coming towards her as she stood motionless, finishing the drink quickly. She set the glass aside as he rounded on her.

Hermione could feel him come up behind her. The strange coolness his body exuded made her shiver. His hand grazed her side, startling her. She could feel his breath against her skin, Goosebumps rising along her body.

"Red suits you," his voice was horse. "It sets off the blush in your cheeks," amusement crept into his voice and despite herself, her face did burn slightly. She swallowed hard, trying not to flinch away from him.

Suddenly he stepped in front of her, gripping her arm hard as he held it tightly in his grasp. She winced as he gripped the still healing wound. His eyes narrowed significantly as he stared at the words. "Who?" was all he asked in a clipped but infuriated voice.

She blinked rapidly at him, beginning to shake in fear of his growing anger. "Who touched you?" His voice rose impatiently, his gaze meeting hers.

Hermione struggled to find her voice. She saw a realization cross his expression. Hermione thought it should have been obvious, but perhaps he hadn't thought Bellatrix had the nerve to cross him so severely.

"I'm going to beat the shit out of her," he seethed, and Hermione knew the threat was anything but empty or mere heated agitation. She believed him more than she had ever believed anything. Voldemort was panting in anger.

"She had no right to touch you," he growled. "You are mine."

He dropped her arm, pacing across the room and refilling his glass. Hermione watched him, saw the wheels turning in his head as his gaze caught hers once more. His eyes were glassy.

"I'll deal with the insolent bitch later," he determined, setting his glass down, fury burning behind his eyes, and something else, something Hermione could not quite distinguish.

His eyes darkened as he gave himself over to the pleasure it was obvious he craved. Voldemort's gaze wondered Hermione's still form. He straightened his jaw.

"Against that wall," he ordered, gesturing to the one behind her. "Go."

She turned, seeing the chain that hung menacingly from the ceiling, and the numerous devices of pain and pleasure lined up against the wall on racks and shelves.

She swallowed hard, finding herself trembling as she gazed at the area of his chamber.

"Now," she heard him warn from his place where she heard more alcohol being poured.

Slowly, Hermione moved forward, standing awkwardly near the wall, turning to face him. She wasn't sure what he wanted from her.

He stood contemplating for a long moment, gazing at her, before stepping forward and crossing the distance between them.

Swiftly, Voldemort reached around, unclasping her bra with two fingers in an expert maneuver and tugged at it until it fell free. He threw it aside. His eyes took her in silently. He then gripped one of her arms forcefully, yanking it above her head.

She tensed, panicking. "Please don't," she gazed fearfully up at the chain that hung above her, trembling. Her voice was shaking.

He gripped her other arm, pulling her wrists together and securing her arms expertly above her head in an almost painful way, and consequently tugging her breasts up tightly to attention. He pulled at the chain until she was almost hanging from the ceiling by her shoulders and Hermione's heart quickened at her vulnerability.

She jerked against her restraints in what she knew was a futile manner. He smirked slightly, taking a step back to glance at her, his eyes following every curve of her body.

Voldemort went to his rack on the wall, contemplating for a moment before grabbing something. She twisted her head as best she could, trying to see what he was doing from the corner of her eye. The whip he had chosen looked to have many tassels on it and she wondered if this was fortunate for her or not.

Hermione was trembling as she saw him walk behind her until he was out of sight completely and she strained her neck trying to see what he was doing. The chains rattled from the intensity of her fear.

"Eyes forward," he ordered.

She reluctantly obliged, biting on her cheek as she braced herself.

"Relax," he said almost gently. Hermione resisted the urge to scoff at him.

He was still for a few long moments. Just when Hermione was beginning to wonder if he had changed his mind about striking her at all, the soft leather danced across her back and she jumped in surprise.

It stung, but not with the intensity she had felt before, not with an unbearable pain, and the force did not break her skin. Another lash struck her back a little harder and she flinched again. Another, and another.

She felt him picking up speed as the material struck her back over and over, her skin growing hotter and more irritated, and consequently was _really_ starting to hurt. She bit her lip.

She gripped the chains that held her hard, fisting them for support, her shoulders slouching away from him as he struck her again. She could hear his rapid breath behind her, but could not tell if it was from exertion or excitement.

The next blow was harder, hitting a particularity irritated patch of skin and she could no longer stop herself from crying out. He stopped abruptly for a moment before striking her five more times with an even greater force, Hermione screamed with each lash, her eyes beginning to burn with the pain.

He halted his actions and she could hear him inching closer to her. She jumped when she felt his cool hand running across the burning skin of her back in an almost soothing manner.

"What a lovely shade of red," he whispered pointedly. He traced the curve of her back, his hand running lower across her ass and grazing it softly.

"Does Bellatrix enjoy this?" She asked in a low voice, unable to contain herself.

He chuckled darkly from behind her. "Nothing makes her wetter," he answered with amusement, smacking her behind hard before moving in front of her.

His gaze met hers where tears threatened to spill. He studied her, holding her eyes as he reached up and pinched one of her nipples nard between his fingers. She winced but didn't struggle. She had learned last time that this was best. He pulled away before slapping one of her breasts hard.

He reached down, sucking on it lightly, flicking his tongue across the nub in an almost pleasurable way, soothing the hurt he had just caused. She met his gaze curiously.

Voldemort smirked, bringing his hand back and slapping it again even harder. Hermione cried out, the sensation of skin meeting wet skin even more painful than flesh on flesh. It burn and stung in a way she'd never experienced.

He chuckled, backing away from her and playing with the whip in his hand as he eyed her up.

"Chin up if you don't want a smack in the face," he warned. She barely had time to react before he raised his arm swiftly and the leather came crashing across the flesh of her chest, the skin of her breasts bouncing and swaying with the hard movement. His next blow was aimed at the other breast and came with the same amount of force.

He picked up speed as he had before, lashing her breasts repeatedly until Hermione lost count, and until they stung and burned fiercely. It was entirely different sensation than when he had assaulted her back, each time the whip smacked across one of her nipples a strange spark shot through her, one she couldn't believe stirred something inside her, yet mingled with the intense pain she was experiencing. Her nipples had grown hard from the assault and stood at attention from the amount she had been trembling, making each lash catch them harder than the skin surrounding them.

Voldemort changed his angle, whipping her upwards, downwards, from the side, across both breasts, in every way he could manage. He went on for a very long time, until her flesh stung with each lash and tears were visibly running down her cheeks. Hermione couldn't stop herself from whimpering as she tried not to beg him to stop.

He stepped into her, grabbing one of her nipples hard and pinching it again with brute force. Hermione screamed. He did not react, simply rubbed his thumb across one of her nubs repeatedly, torturing her.

He tilted her chin up gently catching her gaze again and studying her in a way that confused her. At last he stepped away again and Hermione looked at him as he took in the sight of her. She saw the way his taunt muscles flexed beneath his skin as he played with the whip, and noticed the raging bulge in his pants for the first time.

He follower her gaze and undid his jeans and then his zipper. Her stomach dropped. He pulled his jeans off and to her surprise his underwear as well, leaving him stark naked, his very long and very large cock standing at attention, it bobbed around slightly as he kicked his clothing aside, meeting her gaze again shamelessly.

"Is this what you were admiring?" He asked, raising an eyebrow as he gripped himself between one of his hands, stroking his length for a short moment before releasing it, letting it spring free again.

He came closer to her, and shocked her by gripping her panties so tightly that he tore them completely off of her with what seemed like no effort at all, leaving her completely bare.

She could feel his erection pressed against her skin as he reached between her legs, jamming a finger into her hard and thrusting in and out of her violently. She cried out at the intrusion and the discomfort, but also at the repulsion she felt when pleasure built within her. Before it could come to any true fruition though, he stopped abruptly, pulling his hand from her and watching her again. He leaned up, brushing the wetness off of her cheeks as he gripped her jaw tightly.

"Your pussy is wet for me, Miss Granger," he breathed with amusement.

Hermione shook her head against him frantically. He laughed.

She was so distracted she didn't see him bring the whip down between her legs and strike her there hard and fast. She flinched, her whole body contorting. His proximity was much closer, the pressure much different. He flicked it again against the sensitive skin there and she flinched, trying to pull away from him as she realized what he was doing.

The whip struck again quickly and he dragged it away from her, the soft leather dancing across her sensitive nub. Her legs shook beneath her as she trembled, but not from fear.

The next strike was incredibly harder, making her skin shake, but the pain she experienced then almost equaled the unrequited pleasure.

His eyes danced with excitement as his arms moved, he reveled in control and pain, this much had been clear, and controlling her pleasure was an equally attractive lure she realized—forcing her to feel what she wished she could not.

She watched his eyes flicker with amusement and halted, having sufficiently proved his point. Hermione hated him for it, but more than that, she hated herself.

"You're doing well," he added. The comment confused Hermione. What was that supposed to mean?

He rounded on her again, disappearing out of her sight, and she heard him hang the whip up, fumbling around behind her. She saw something long and dark and sleek dancing around the back of her eyes and barely had time to register the fact before she was screaming louder than she had ever screamed.

The whip came down on her skin with brute force and she felt it split open, blood seeping from the wound.

There was barely a pause before it slashed against the skin of her back again and Hermione felt herself sobbing. "Stop," she begged. "Please, stop," she pleaded, turning herself so that her sides took the brunt of the next blow.

She could feel him panting now, grunting with each lash and the effort he was putting into them. The pain became blinding and she felt herself becoming light headed. His time with this whip felt like an eternity.

The lashes stopped at last and he came around, watching her eyes flicker closed, her face covered with tears, eyes puffy, lips red where she had been biting down on them until she drew blood.

As blood fell slowly down her back and he lowered the whip, she finally began to see the anger inside of him dissipate, his resolve tiring. She realized then that this was a release for him. That he _needed_ this. She saw the tension and anger falling away from him, leaving only desire, his hard member bouncing around as he walked.

Voldemort dropped the whip, and in one swift movement moved behind her, yanking her head back hard by her hair and holding it upright as he plunged into her from behind. Her body was on fire where he touched it, where he didn't touch it, her consciousness dwindling in and out.

She gasped in pain with each thrust, his hands gripping her hips with unbelievable strength as he plunged into her again and again, filling her to the brim and making her ache in a whole other way. Her wrists were raw where they tugged against their bindings at his actions, her breasts ached where they bounced with his rapid thrusts, her feet barely supporting her as she began to sink to the ground, unable to hold herself up any longer. She didn't have the strength.

Voldemort caught her, supporting her body against his as his movements continued and she felt him swelling inside of her. He didn't last long to her relief, his arousal was so heightened, and it was only a few minutes later that he climaxed, riding out his orgasm to the last stride and pulling out of her with a grunt.

He panted heavily against her, before moving away, leaving her sagging into herself. The only thing holding her up at this point were the chains, her shoulders crying out in protest as her hair fell in her face, her head falling forward weakly.

He strode away from her, his shoulders falling in a relaxed manner and he poured himself another long drink. She could feel him watching her from a short distance, wondered what she looked like to him, beaten bloody, whipped bright red, and whimpering pathetically. Probably like the ultimate vengeance, she thought.

It was a few minutes and what sounded like two drinks later when he walked over, reached up and released her.

Hermione fell to the floor with a thud, barely catching herself as she fell against it with a sob.

"Get out," he said at last.

She glanced up at him from her place on the floor, eyes narrowed. She wondered if she could stand. She panted deeply for a few moments, trying to distract herself from the pain.

Hermione attempted to push herself up, but her arms gave way, unable to support her and she crashed back down, catching herself before she smacked her head off the ground.

With an impatient grunt, Voldemort lunged for her, tugging her upright harshly by the arm. Her legs were weak and she fell against him. He flinched, but held her upright, turning her slightly to stare at her for a long moment with what could only be described as captivation.

"I will call for Draco," his voice was soft.

Hermione's heart fell. "N-no," she protested weakly. "I'm fine," she insisted, mustering what strength she could to push herself from him and towards the door. She barely realized she was entirely naked as she grasped at the door handle hastily, using the wall to hold herself up.

She could feel Voldemort watching her. He was entirely an enigma to her. She thought in that moment that she would never truly understand his actions. She glanced over her shoulder at him as she pulled the door open, his gaze a cross between bewilderment and amazement.

* * *

><p>Hermione did not know how far down the corridor she had managed to get, pulling herself along against the wall as she held a particularly painful and still bleeding lash at her side. She was praying no one would find her, and that she would have the strength to make it to her room and simply collapse, to fall into her bath tub and perhaps drown, when she felt the blackness creeping up on her.<p>

She fought to stay conscious, biting her lip to shock herself into alertness, but it was failing her quickly.

She sunk down against the ground as her legs gave out. Hermione blinked rapidly, her vision darkening and she thought she was imagining a shadowy figure staggering towards her.

"Hermione," a voice called distantly, echoing in her head.

The darkness was tugging at her, thought she fought it desperately. "Jesus Christ," she heard the voice whispered it was laced with horror and disgust, but most of all—pain.

"Granger," it said more fervently.

She could not fight any more, could not handle the pain, and despite the imminent danger she might very well be in, she gave herself to the shadows, letting them entangle and take her far, far away.


	6. Chapter 6

**Part Six**

It was a long time before the clouds lifted, and even then Hermione had to pull herself from them to wake. The moment she did, she regretted it fiercely. There was not a part of her that didn't ache or burn, and she became instantly awake of that. Hermione hissed, trying not to move or breathe too deeply.

"Easy, Granger," a voice whispered softly.

She opened her eyes slowly, allowing them to adjust to the dim light and see Draco sitting at the end of her bed wearing nothing more than his pajama bottoms. She was becoming too used to this site, too comfortable with the proximity of her enemy half naked in the night.

She glanced down and realized she was wearing the shirt he was too obviously missing. "You're going to run out of clothes if you keep giving me your whole wardrobe," She whispered, attempting to forget that he had seen her entirely naked again, entirely vulnerable and broken.

"I have plenty," Draco answered. His voice was distant and strained.

Her eyes met his and their gazes caught for a long moment, the words they were unable to say passing between them. Draco was tense. Tenser than she had probably ever seen him. His fists were clenched at his sides in angry fists, yet his back was hunched almost helplessly forward, but his eyes were what really caught her attention. They were sad and creased with pain.

"I ran you a bath," he said softly, his eyes wandering the marks along her legs and arms. Hermione felt more self-conscious than when she'd been naked before him.

She nodded, sitting up slowly and letting out a wail of pain as she did so. She gritted her teeth, clenching the bed for support.

Draco stood instantly, helping her stand and supporting almost all of her weight.

She leaned heavily on him, wincing as they walked to the washroom. Hermione had to admit that the tub looked warm and inviting as she watched the steam rolling across the water. She relaxed a little at the thought of the relief it might bring and sighed.

"Thank you," she breathed, turning to Draco, thankful it was still night time and the dim light over the sink was the only thing illuminating the room. The lighting was enough to see clearly but it was not bright, and it set the mood for relaxation.

Draco glanced down at her quickly. "Do you need help getting in?" He asked, his expression almost timid. She nodded. Hermione knew she couldn't manage it alone.

"I could give you a moment," he offered.

Hermione shook her head.

"I don't care anymore, Malfoy" she said with a small sigh, guiding his hand to the hem of the shirt at her thighs, knowing that the amount of movement it would take to pull it off herself would stretch the most painful parts of her skin.

His eyes held hers, showing her they were not wandering as he pulled it gently over her head and let it fall to the floor. It was then that he acknowledged the poorly wrapped piece of fabric hanging around her forearm.

"What is that?" His voice was calm but his eyes were questioning.

"Nothing," she insisted, reaching for the dirty fabric and pulling it tighter against her skin.

"Hermione."

"I said nothing." She snapped without meaning to.

"Okay," he said, grabbing her upper arm gently and helping her step into the tub.

The water was warm, almost too warm, but it felt good. She eased herself lower and hissed in pain as the water stung her open wounds and her raw skin.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," she insisted, moving further into the water and watching the dry blood pool in the tub around her, dying it red before dissolving.

She sunk down until she was fully immersed, gritting her teeth as her skin stung. After a moment, the pain slowly subsided and she was able to relax. Hermione released the tension in her body and leaned against the smooth surface of the tub, closing her eyes.

"Feels good," she said after a moment, opening her eyes to see Draco watching her curiously. "Thank you," she said again, truly meaning it.

He nodded, his eyes dark.

He sat beside the tub, leaning forward as he watched her. "He was having a bad night before you went to him," Draco said at last, touching on the topic that they had both been dancing around since he found her. "Angry and drunk before you even stepped in there. Not that those aren't his normal traits…I just," he paused. "I feared this."

She was quiet for a long moment. "You said it yourself. You've seen worse."

He nodded slowly. She was fully aware of the fact that water was a transparent substance and that if he wanted he could see all of her, if he merely leaned forward. She was aware that her chest was half out of the water, covered in bruises and marks and hard not to look at, but she was simply too tired and in too much pain to give it a second thought.

"It eats away at me, that there is nothing I can do, that I have no power…that I cannot stop your pain or even ease it," he said through gritted teeth, his voice so low she wondered if he was even speaking to her.

She glanced at him, shifting to face him though the movement was painful. "You do ease it."

His glance met hers, sad yet hopeful at the same time. He reached for the cloth hanging between them on the ledge and dunked it in the water. He rang it as his eyes met hers, questioningly before reaching forward to press it gently to her skin.

Hermione made an effort to keep her wrapped arm out of the tub but allowed his movements, leaning into his ministrations. It felt good to have the blood wiped from her skin. It felt even better to be touched gently and with care.

Draco was careful to only touch her appropriately but she felt herself shiver as his hand reached towards her collarbone. Their eyes locked and he handed her the cloth. She washed the remainder of my body, wetting her hair and cleaning herself up.

"Whatever happened to your arm, let me wrap it properly," he said a few minutes later in a pleading tone. "Please. You're likely enough to get an infection without dressing your wounds in dirty cloth," his eyes beseeched her.

Hermione hesitated, but tentatively, she offered him her arm. Her limb shook a little as she did. This would be yet another mark of shame that she would have forever and she was sharing it with him.

His hand moved gently, resting on her arm. He reached for the fabric, gazing up at her as he did before pulling it loose. His jaw clenched as he took in the angry red words carved into her skin.

"Bellatrix." He remembered the first encounter well, when the first part of the message had been branded into her skin. He had been there after all, watched the whole thing unfold. He was silent for a long moment, before shaking his head and moving to wash the wound. She could see the tightness of his jaw as he gritted his teeth.

She expected him to comment but he said nothing; and for that she was almost grateful, though the tension never left his body.

"I thought you'd tried to kill yourself," he said a few moments later as he dried and wrapped her wound, putting clean, fresh bandages on it and pulling them tight against her skin.

"Drowning could be an accidental death," she mused quietly, shocked at the lack of emotion in her voice as she toyed with the water.

His gaze met hers. "That is not a joke."

"I wasn't trying to be funny."

"Hermione."

"Draco."

Silence fell between them.

"Just help me out of here," she said at last, moving to stand. Draco grabbed for her instinctively, pulling her from the tub and handing her a towel.

The aching had not subsided but Hermione had to admit she felt better, like her skin was looser and more relaxed, though still substantially marred. She wrapped herself in the towel and wrung her hair, catching sight of herself in the mirror as she did so.

She had been avoiding her reflection for obvious reasons, but could no longer avoid what she saw staring back at her.

Yes, her skin was red and cut. She had expected that. She had not expected to barely recognize herself, not from the marks on her skin, but the hopelessness in her features. She looked frail and small, and in many ways broken. She did not look like Hermione Granger. She followed one of the marks on her upper chest down through the towel and found many more. She traced it with her finger, feeling the heat of the skin and shivered, pulling the towel closer and storming from the mirror to save herself the pain of it.

She looked around for one of Draco's shirts to throw on to no avail. She looked up to see him handing her one of his baggier ones silently. She took it, wondering if even the light material of the t-shirt would irritate her skin.

"Can I take a look at one of the marks on your back," Draco asked suddenly. His gaze was tentative as it met hers. "It worries me."

Hermione hesitated, stiffening.

"Please," he added. She nodded, turning from him and letting the towel fall looser around her body. She tensed as she felt him come up behind her, the heat of his body making his presence known.

Draco bunched her hair, pushing it over her shoulder and out of the way gently. She jumped without meaning to at the contact. "I won't hurt you," he breathed quietly, laying a soft hand on her shoulder as the other moved down her back to the throbbing area between her shoulder blades. He ran his fingers gently along the skin there, stopping before he touched the wound she guessed he was referring to. She could feel the open cut from one of Voldemort's lashes and hoped that it at least had stopped bleeding.

She heard Draco sigh softly to himself as he let his hands fall from her skin. Hermione felt instantly colder. "I don't know that bandaging it would do it any good. Perhaps allowing the wound to breathe will be best," was all he said, stepping away from her to give her some space.

"How bad?" She asked.

"Nothing you won't survive. Might leave a mark."

"I seem to be collecting scars," she said quietly and to herself as she turned to face him, her fingers toying with the edges of the bandages at her wrist. She tugged at them, trying to forget the words they masked.

She felt Draco reach out and grab her arm gently, pulling it towards him in a surprising gesture.

"I have a mark of my own," he offered, his voice dark as he held his wrist up to hers. "One that is infinitely more shameful."

Hermione glanced towards the dark mark, the snake that coiled its way around his forearm. She met his eyes, and in them, she really did see shame.

She curled in on herself, hugging the towel to her body as she suppressed tears, her eyes burning.

"At least you had a choice." The words hung between them but Hermione knew they may not hold as much truth as she once thought.

"I'm tired," she said at last, reaching for the shirt once more and pulling it over her head with effort. She let the towel fall and realized she didn't care to wear anything else, that she needed to let her wounds breathe and she needed to sleep.

Draco nodded, stepping out of her way so she could move towards her bed. He helped her sit and then lay, pulling the blankets around her and watching her attempt to relax against them.

"Try to rest," he said. He seemed to not know what else to say. He watched her for a long moment, her eyes fluttering shut, the pain and tension in her frail form, before moving for the door.

"Wait," Hermione whispered fiercely, grasping his wrist with more strength than she knew she had. Her eyes met his, pleading.

He stiffened, stepping towards her.

"Will you stay?"

Draco hesitated, his form rigid, his jaw locked. It was clear he remembered the last time he had held her when she had been broken, they both did. She wondered how many more times he would cross this line for her, how many more times he would put his life in danger to hold her together when she was falling apart. She just couldn't be alone.

"Please," she added. Her voice cracked against her will.

At last, he nodded, sitting gently beside her on the bed and pulling her close to him. He was careful not to hurt her as he held her slender frame in his. Hermione could feel the smooth, solid skin of his abdomen as she curled against him and for the first time all day, she relaxed, letting out a long and deep breathe. She felt Draco calming beneath her as well.

She traced the lines of his tattoo as she felt her eyes fluttering shut, the weight of her pain and exhaustion taking over, the scent of vanilla entrapping her. For a few moments, she thought she might cry. But only silent tears fell, and when they did, he held her closer; Draco held her carefully and smoothed her hair back, and made her feel like she might actually be safe for a moment until she finally lost herself in sleep.


End file.
